


The Stories Spells and Shadow Weave (I can tell I'm damned)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Series: of trees that fall into the sea [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Blow Jobs, Coming of Age, Coping, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Getting Together, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M, Magical Realism, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Pining, Rating Change, Sad Brian May, Stargazing, Visions, Water Sex, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-01-13 11:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 134,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: Brian has dealt with the ghostly visions his entire life, he has learned how to cope with the terrifying sights and the lack of sleep that comes with it. Even with his grandmother's odd warning about never taking off her pendant, Brian pretends that he doesn't see them. It's the best way to get through the day, after all.John, Roger, and Freddie have lived their entire lives knowing about witchcraft and handling the paranormal like rather annoying spiders. They're just waiting for the fourth that Freddie has seen come into their lives.Their worlds collide the same day Brian falls into a fountain, this can only mean good things, right?





	1. How tightly is fate tied?

**Author's Note:**

> It's here!  
I don't think this needs any preamble, but for those of you that don't know, this is a long-awaited Witch AU and I'm so nervous about posting it, but the best way is to rip the band-aid off, right?  
Anyway, enjoy!

Brian rubs his eyes. It has been so long since last night. Had he slept last night? Maybe it was the night before? Yeah. The hour on the couch before visiting Tim. No, that was last night, Tim is with him right now. Looking at him like he has gone crazy.

_Well, _Brian thinks, _he might not be far off. Mother certainly agrees with him._

“God, what is with this wind?” Tim tucks his hands further into the pocket of his jacket.

Brian glances out around the campus. He is only seeing a few today, or he thinks there’s only a few. It is hard to tell and everything is fuzzy with exhaustion. The wind blows again, and he feels his pendant warm.

Shit.

“Anyway, I think we need to have tryouts, for a drummer. I don’t know how far we can get as two blokes with guitars.”

Brian lets out a quiet laugh, “no market?”

“Eh, might get the wrong market.”

He looks away from Tim. There is something watching him. A chill races up his spine. Several meters away and across the grass a woman faces him. Her dress is ragged torn lace and her skin pale. He shakes his head. Who knows what people wear these days?

“So, auditions?” Brian blinks and looks away.

“We’ve got to get a good drummer. Ginger Baker, Mitch Mitchell. You know the type.”

The pendant heats up. Brian turns his head and sees that the woman has moved closer. Her eyes are bright blue. He stares at her. Tim smacks his arm.

“Brian! I’m making a plan here.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he murmurs.

When he turns away the pendant burns hotter. Brian closes his eyes and shakes his head harder. That thing isn’t going to hurt him. They aren’t real.

“Have you slept at all this week?”

“Maybe?”

He knows he has.

The pendant starts burning him. He turns his head. The woman is standing six meters from him. Brian watches her move; she blurs and closes to three meters. Tim frowns. When Brian leans into him, Tim pushes him off.

The dress remains still. The wind picks up. Brian feels cold wrap around him, save for the pendant that is hot. He is sure that it is burning him. The woman’s legs slowly vanish into a cloud of mist.

“Brian?”

Brian flicks his eyes to Tim. They are drawn back to the woman. Her legs are gone. The dress remains, disappearing into the mist fluttering out occasionally. Tim grabs his shoulder. Brian shouts. For a moment Tim’s face fades to gray, sunken blue eyes peer at him.

He falls backward into the fountain. Brian scrambles to his feet. Cold water dripping down his body. Tim reaches for him. He snatches his wrist away. The woman’s face twists. There is no nose. It is a skull. Her hair flies out wildly standing straight.

She opens her mouth. He can’t hear the scream. It vibrates in his chest. His ears hurt. He reaches up to cover them. Brian sinks to his knees. His fingers flexing into his scalp. It keeps screaming. He feels dizzy.

He tilts forward trying to fight against it.

Everything just shuts off.

When he wakes up, he spots bright blue eyes and yells. He tries to push away but he can’t get his hands under him. The rest of the face comes into focus. Long blond hair halos a soft face. Heavy lidded eyes stare at him in a mix of casual concern and mischief.

“Well, can’t say that’s ever happened to me before,” the voice is soft.

It takes Brian a second to realize that he is speaking to a male. He blinks. His body feels like he has no energy left. His are nerves sparking.

“Sorry,” Brian whispers.

“Banshees are a nasty business. I understand.”

Brian blinks, “what?”

The man stares at him, “are you okay?”

“Yes,” Brian leans up and drops back down at the wave of nausea.

“Yeah, real fine,” the man says airily.

“Brian, are you okay?” Tim leans over him.

“I think so.”

Tim bites his lip, “sure. The screaming and the passing out and the not sleeping… very okay.”

Brian grimaces, “I promise I was working on it.”

The blond looks between them, “that sounds pretty serious.”

Tim rolls his eyes, “by not sleeping?”

“How about we go to a clinic?”

Brian opens his mouth.

The blond says, “my family owns it. My uncle would be happy to make sure that things are okay.”

Brian narrows his eyes.

The blond tilts his head, “you passed out in the water. There could still be some in your lungs. Pneumonia is a killer.”

“I think you should go with him.”

“And if he tries to murder me?” Brian raises an eyebrow.

Tim looks at the blond, “what’s your name?”

“Roger Taylor,” Roger’s eyes flick to him.

Brian shrugs.

“Are you going to murder Brian?”

“Not currently.”

Brian stiffens, “what do you mean?”

Roger lifts his hands, “bad joke.”

He stands and offers a hand to Brian who takes it. There are calluses on Roger’s hands. Smooth parts from burns, but the calluses are thick on his palms.

“You drum?”

“What? Yeah. How’d you know?”

Brian shrugs, “your hands.”

Roger looks at them, twisting them every which way.

“You also must be bad at smoking. Your fingertips are covered in burns.”

He winces, _great Brian! Be weird about his hands!_

“Uh yeah. I get… distracted,” Roger replies, “are you well to walk?”

“Yes.”

Brian takes a step and stumbles when his legs give out. Roger catches him. He feels a soothing tickle run down his calves. When he straightens the weight vanishes from his limbs. He stares at Roger who is watching him carefully.

“Sorry, I think I’m good now.”

“Yeah?”

He bobs his head.

“I’ll see you, Tim.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk more about auditions later. Once you sleep.”

Roger gestures for Brian to follow. He pauses a second, dragging his eyes down Roger’s fame. The blond is shorter than him and dressed in bright colors (Brian isn’t entirely convinced that the blouse isn’t a woman’s). There are several bracelets on his arm, each intricately carved. It smells like he’s been dipped in a bath of honeysuckle.

“Coming Brian?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes. Brian has so many questions. His eyes also keep skittering over the figures in the distance. Yet another woman in a tattered dress. She screams at a couple. They pull their coats tighter.

“Beltane,” Roger snorts, “am I right?”

“Beltane?”

Roger blinks, “yeah, you know? Beltane.”

“No?”

“Ah, the winds. Bringing in summer. It is said that the spirit world and ours get closer. Brings out the worst bits.”

Brian shrugs.

Roger pauses at a crosswalk. Brian tries to not make eye contact with the screaming woman. He hears some strange language and turns to Roger. The blond’s eyes are on him. Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Roger’s says opened mouthed.

“What?”

“Nothing, just remembered I need to pick up milk on my way home.”

“Well, I think I’m good to go home on my own, really.”

“Screaming and passing out in a fountain is, good to go, as you say?” Roger skips out to the middle of the crosswalk, “you should listen to your friend.”

Brian bites back his original statement. That _he is used to it_, and instead shrugs, “I feel fine.”

“It would comfort me greatly if you were to make sure there were no more ills of your person.”

“Uh, big into Shakespeare, are you?”

“Not particularly, why?”

He shakes his head. Roger is an odd one. It’s safer if he just lets it go. They cross the street, and the screaming woman vanishes. Roger skips lighting on the slight curb.

“So how long have you been drumming?”

“Since I was twelve. Well, that’s when I got my first kit, mum says I’ve been smacking things to make a rhythm since I figured out what my hands were.”

“I see.”

“Play an instrument?” Roger turns around.

His smile is soft around the edges. Brian drops his shoulder and his hands fall from the fist they were making.

“Guitar. I built one with my dad.”

“Oh, truly?”

Brian raises his eye at Roger’s speech, “yeah, when I was sixteen. We had to build one because I kept, er, borrowing the school’s acoustic one to get extra practice.”

“Ah,” Roger laughs, “I didn’t take you for a rule breaker.”

“I’m not. I gave the guitar back. They just yelled at me.”

“I see.”

Brian picks up his pace to match Roger’s stride, “do you play with anyone?”

“Seriously? No. My Co- flatmates and I play around together, but they don’t seem interested in forming a band.”  
“Mine is looking for a drummer,” Brian offers.

“Yeah? And what kind of band are you?”

“Rock.”

Roger snorts, “you’re full of surprises, Brian.”

“What can I say?” Brian shrugs.

“It’s good. Oh, we’re nearly there.”

“But I’d like to give you my number that way you can reach me for audition times?”

“What makes you think I’m interested?”

“Because hands don’t get like that if you’re only casually interested in it.”

“Bit of a palm reader, are we?”

“Not a charlatan. I just know the hands of musicians.”

_And back to being odd about the hands, _Brian inwardly sighs.

Roger wiggles his eyebrows and Brian finds himself blushing. He doesn’t understand why, but he grins back.

“Oy! Anyone?”

A blonde hair girl pops over the counter. She has the same sleepy blue eyes as Roger and looks a few year years younger.

“Who’d you find?”

“This is Brian,” Roger gestures to him.

“Hello. Pleasure.”

“Hi, Brian. I’m Clare!”

“My younger sister. Is Uncle in?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back. Medicine issue. The cauldron – ah.”

Roger shakes his head vigorously. Brian frowns. Do they make their own medications here? One of those homeopathic places?

“The stock room got busted up, one of the patients tried to nab something.”

“Bollocks. I’m going to go check, can you get Brian into a room? Took a header into a fountain.”

“By choice?” Clare grins at him.

“Not particularly, no.”

Clare steps out from the counter. Her dress is a mock-up of the Victorian style. Shorter, hanging up to her calf and styled for summer with short frilly sleeves. Brian has never seen anything like it before.

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat, “I like your dress.”

Clare smiles, “aren’t you sweet? How do you know Roggie?”

“Ah, well, I just met him. He helped me out with the fountain.”

“He’s always helping people.”

Clare’s smile brightens, “he’s probably going to drag you around everywhere now.”

“Oh?”

Clare wiggles her eyebrows. Brian sees the family resemblance. He looks around to keep from staring and Clare thinking that he is odd. The walls of the clinic are a soft green. There are a few pictures of sketched plants with their Latin classification on the side.

“Here we are, have a seat, yeah?”

“Thank you,” Brian says stepping into the exam room.

“No problem,” Clare flips a tab on the wall.

“I’ll be seeing you Bri! Remember I like macadamia cookies and my favorite color is purple!”

Brian stares after her. He shrugs, _today is weird_. The room he is in looks like a traditional examine room, save for the table being made from dark red wood. Intricate carvings cover it but he can’t make out a design. It must be abstract. He jumps up and swings his legs.

The walls are still soft green and light brown molding. He crosses his legs before deciding that it would be improper for the doctor to walk in on him like that. It feels awkward to keep his legs dangling though. Brian puts one up on the table and hugs it to his chest. Then the other joins. It feels better, at least.

His hands can play with the hem of his pants. Now that he has stopped moving the water is seeping into his skin. He shivers and rubs his arms to heat up, it doesn’t work much with the surprisingly good air conditioning. Brian hugs his legs tighter and tries to keep himself warm.

The door opens and an older man steps into the room, his blond hair is fading to gray, but he has the same blue eyes as both Roger and Clare.

“Brian, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m terribly sorry about the wait – oh, would you like a towel?”

“Yes, please.”

The doctor reaches into the cabinet and pulls out a thin towel. Brian takes it and starts carefully towel drying his hair. He knows his hair is going to be a fluffy mess when it dries so he doesn’t want to give it more any reason to frizz up.

“So, Roger told me a little bit about what happened, but can I hear it from your perspective?”

Brian swallows and wonders how much is safe to tell this man, “I got… overwhelmed. I have insomnia. It’s been bad this week.”

The man hums, “so nothing triggered you feeling overwhelmed?”

He shakes his head and then sighs. Maybe he can play it off as a one-time thing?

“I saw something?” _Or not._

“Can you describe it?”

Brian shrugs, “a woman that you could see through and she screamed at me.”

The doctor writes something down. Brian wrings his hand, “uh, are you Doctor Taylor?”

“How terribly rude of me. I get so into my work; you know how it is. Yes, Doctor Charles Taylor.”

Brian holds out his hand, “Brian May.”

Doctor Taylor’s eyebrow does rise at that. Brian tilts his head.

“Ah, I think I went to school with a May, any of your family from Truro?”

“None. That I’m aware.”

He is certain that his father would have mentioned going to school with someone like Charles Taylor. None of his family had even been in that city, then again May isn’t a rare name.

“Right,” Doctor Taylor clears his throat, “you said you saw a screaming woman?”

“Yes, but I really think it has more to do with my lack of sleep.”

Doctor Taylor frowns.

“I planned to speak with my family doctor if it didn’t get better after this week and ask if there’s anything he can do for me.”

“Of course. Are you suffering from nightmares?”

“Sometimes, but doesn’t everyone?”

He glances towards the door, afraid that he is going to give something away. Brian bites his cheek cursing his honesty. Now the doctor probably thinks he is insane.

_Wouldn’t be the first time._

“Well, I’d just like to check your head, and then I won’t keep you much longer.”

Brian lets out a soft sigh as he nods.

“Young man like yourself probably has plenty to do on a Friday night?”

“Physics homework, mostly.”

Doctor Taylor laughs, “oh my. And what are you going to do with that? Teach?”

“I’ve been accepted into the graduate degree program for astrophysics.”

“Well, good luck with all that.”

Brian ducks his head.

“Where are you studying?”

The doctor sets down a few different tools on the table next to him.

“Imperial.”  
“Roger is at London Hospital.”

“Oh?”

“Biology,” Doctor Taylor picks up a small light, “this will be bright.”

The light clicks on and Brian blinks. It is bright enough to make him tear up. Doctor Taylor quickly moves on, leaving Brian to rub at his eyes. He lets the doctor look at his ears, even feel for any damage that he may have done in the fall. Like Brian had thought, he hadn’t injured himself.

“Well, I think you just need a good night’s sleep,” Doctor Taylor says finally.

“Thank you, I know this must have been an interruption. With the supply cabinet.”

“That’s nothing. I don’t mind helping out Roger’s friends.”

They had only known each other a couple of hours. Brian could hardly call them friends. As Clare had mentioned earlier, he has a feeling that Roger is going to be hanging around him. He did offer the position as the drummer. Well offered an audition slot.

“Pleasure to meet you, Brian. Don’t feel like you must be a stranger!”

Brian nods. He jumps off the table awkwardly holding the towel, unsure of where it should go. It seems rude to assume that he should just leave it on the table. The rooms must be cleaned after an exam though. Doctor Taylor smiles kindly and takes it before tossing it into a cloth hamper in the corner. He flushes. Makes sense to put dirty towels there.

“Thank you again, and sorry for the interruption.”

He quickly dodges out of the room and straight into Roger. More like he tripped over Roger. The blond winces.

“Okay?”

“As can be,” Brian offers.

He tugs down his shirt which has wrinkled. It is still soaked so he knows the fabric is revealing. Brian runs a hand through his lanky hair. Roger raises an eyebrow and Brian wraps his arms around his chest. The blond has changed clothes at some point, wearing now tight black jeans and a plain white button-up with a dark gray vest over it. His tie dangles around his neck, the green is standing out brightly.

“Uh,”

Roger looks down at himself, “oh, my flatmates called. We’re going out soon.”

Brian swallows. Right. Roger has flatmates, who knowing Brian’s luck are equally as beautiful and interesting as the blond, and why had he let people convince him that Roger would want to hang around _him_.

“But I want to walk you home first,” Roger smiles, “I’d feel bad just kicking you out on the street.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I said I wanted to.”

With that Roger takes his arm and links them together. Tugging Brian out of the hallway and towards the lobby of the clinic. Clare waves as they pass, whistling sharply. His face heats up again, while Roger flips her off.

“You know I’m taken.”

“With Curly Boy,” Clare winks.

Brian feels the tip of his ears heat up and he is certain his chest is red.

“Don’t mind her,” Roger says once they’re outside.

“She doesn’t mean anything by it. And besides, I really am taken.”

He nods. It is not a surprise. Roger looks like the type that could get anyone he wants.

“So, where do you live?”

“Not far from Imperial.”

“Okay.”

They walk in silence, and predictably more visions pop up. He bites his cheek when he sees a man get hit by a car only to vanish into thin air. Then he swaps sides with Roger when they pass a man who simply doesn’t feel right. Roger seems unbothered by his strange actions and silence, instead, he almost seems watchful.

“What happened to your drummer?”

Brian jumps, “I’m sorry?”

“Your drummer, why do you need a new one?”

“Oh, well, ours got his girlfriend pregnant and wanted to support her. So, they’re getting married and he is getting a job that actually pays him.”

“That’s unfortunate. What did you say the name was?”

“Smile.”

Roger tilts his head, “I’ve heard about you. We keep missing you on the circuit. Freddie really wants to see you all perform, and John is practically salivating every time people mention your guitar. I can’t wait to tell him that it is _homemade _rather than custom.”

“Yeah, we haven’t – since our drummer quit, we haven’t been doing so well on gigs.”

“Makes sense,” Roger sticks his hands in his pockets.

Brian pulls down his shirt again. The fabric is awkwardly sticking to his back, and he is glad that the day is unusually warm, and it doesn’t look like it will rain. He glances up at the sky and notes a shadowy figure on the roof. His crystal hasn’t heated up, so he doesn’t think it’s _that _shadowy figure. He switches sides on Roger again.

“What?” Roger looks up and squints.

“It looked like something was going to fall – not that I would rather it hit you than me, but now we’re both not… going to be hit,” Brian finishes quietly.

Roger reaches up and squeezes his arm. Brian jumps away from the contact.

“Er, sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m tired and jumpy.”

For some reason, it doesn’t seem like the blond believes him. Roger waves his hand. Brian could have sworn the area around them brightened. He shakes his head and rubs his eyes; he really needs sleep. Maybe he still has pills from the last time that he got bad.

They make polite conversation for the rest of the walk. Brian finds out that Roger owns a cat, and one of his flatmates, Freddie, owns two. That both Freddie and John are amazing musicians but won’t start anything serious until “we have our fourth perfect member.” 

He offers that he lives alone, but often stays with Tim and that while he doesn’t have a pet currently, he has a soft spot for hedgehogs.

“Really? The tiny prickly things?”

“They’re quite interesting. Very curious.”

Roger looks doubtful, “that sounds like a cat.”

“Yes, but they’re smaller.”

That makes Roger laugh, “you’re that type. The type that likes small cute things.”

“Guilty – oh we turn here.”

His flat is only a few doors away from the corner. He feels like he maybe should have straightened it up more this morning and it’s generous to call it a flat. More like a glorified bedsit with two and a half rooms compared to the one.

Roger hasn’t lost his friendly presence, only curious.

“This seems, nice. Like a proper neighborhood.”

“A lot of uni students live here.”

“Ah, so I know where to come for a party.”

Brian shakes his head, “I wouldn’t trust them.”

. Roger rolls on his heels, “uh, can I get your number. For the auditions? I’ll leave you mine.”

“Right, right. Wait a moment while I find a piece of paper?”

Roger flashes a sharp grin with his tongue just poking out from between his teeth, “course.”

Brian heads to his kitchen where his bag is leaning against the table and grabs the first notebook he can. He tears it out, cautious to avoid tearing the paper. Then he makes sure that each end lines up before slowly tearing it into equal sheets. He writes out each number clearly making sure the four looks like a four and not a nine.

And then he prints out his name instead of his usual illegible scrawl.

He appears after probably much too much time. Roger is leaning against the railing staring up at the sky. Brian clears his throat. Roger takes the paper and folds it (Brian hopes the ink didn’t smear and pretends that the unequal fold isn’t bothering him). Roger reaches his hand out for the other paper. He writes down the number and his name.

Brian reads it back to him to make sure he has the right digits.

“That’s right, I’ll see you around Brian?”

“I suppose.”

Roger flashes him that impish smile one more time before lightly jogging down the steps. When Brian turns around, he tilts his head at the branch sticking out from his door. Then shrugs. It is not hurting anything… but why does it look like sage?

* * *

They don’t need to audition anyone after Roger’s impromptu arrival during one of their practices. Tim quietly agrees that it’s weird that Roger would show up out of the blue and be exactly what they’re looking for in a drummer. His grandma would probably call it fate. Brian can’t find another reason to disprove that this wasn’t meant to happen.

Especially when he and Roger click during performances that just take things to an entirely different level. The way that his guitar weaves between Roger’s rolling strikes. Tim gets left behind sometimes in practices when they’re trying sounds out for different parts of songs.

It’s like the music comes to life.

“I’m heading out early, Mum is coming for a visit and I’d rather not have a lecture about the unwashed dishes in the sink,” Tim laughs pulling the bass from his shoulders.

Brian is feeling good. Since the fountain incident, Brian has managed almost six hours every night _uninterrupted. _Things are clear. He doesn’t feel like he is moving through a fog, just waiting for the next thing to pop out of the shadows at him and send him reeling. It is so strange having energy; Brian wants to _do things _outside of his flat.

Roger stands and twists, his popping back audible from across the room. He twirls his drumsticks before hopping down the slight platform.

“Good session tonight. I really think Keep Yourself Alive can be worked into a demo people would want to listen to.”

“Yeah, I want to tweak the middle section a little more,” Roger says, “I think it’s lagging.”

“Who?”

“The song, I think it gets too wordy.”

Tim shrugs, “sounds fine to me. Brian?”

“Maybe if we can find different lyrics? I get what Roger is saying.”  
“Of course,” Tim rolls his eyes, there’s a slight hint of bitterness, “just let me know what you finally settle on. I’ll see if I can find a studio cheap enough to get a good session to record.”

“Ta,” Brian says.

With that Tim heads out of the music room. Brian stretches out his fingers. He could start pulling out that riff that’s been bothering him for a few days. Roger taps out a quick beat on the cymbal.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I was going to grab dinner and then maybe study, but since we ended early…” Brian replies.

They’ve only had lunch an hour ago. Sandwiches that used up the rest of Roger’s bread before it went stale.

“Want to come back to mine? Freddie will be there, but John is doing a family weekend thing, his sister has a show I think?”

Brian pauses. He’s heard stories about Freddie, and he can’t lie and say that he isn’t curious about Roger’s flatmates. It seems that Freddie is always busy with something on gig nights and John frequently stays in to study or is going out to venues that Smile isn’t playing at.

“Yeah, Freddie won’t mind?”

“He loves people,” Roger shrugs, “and he’s been bugging me to bring you over.”

“Talk about me a lot?” Brian laughs.

“Only the bad, I promise.”

He stills and Roger claps him on the back, “bad joke. C’mon, let’s get this place put together.”

They clean quicker, Brian almost wants to say it was too fast. Then again there wasn’t much mess, they had been playing songs rather than writing them, and Roger brought the sandwiches in a Tupperware so there weren’t any take-out containers to worry about today. He shrugs and decides that he should be grateful clean up didn’t take long.

“I’ll drive?”

“Yeah, I walked today. It was nice.”

Roger glances up at the building storm, “that doesn’t look too nice.”

Brian shrugs and adjusts his grip on the Red Special’s case. Hopefully, the rain doesn’t last long. He doesn’t want to worry about water soaking the case and ruining the guitar. Roger shakes his head and they head down to Roger’s van. It is surprisingly new and well kept. Too new for a university student to afford.

He is pretty sure Roger comes from money, but he doesn’t want to ask that question. It’s rude. Roger places his sticks into their case before setting them down in the trunk. Brian carefully lays his guitar down before shifting it back to where he is confident it isn’t going to slide around.

Roger smiles when he stands up.

“What?”

“Nothing, you and your guitar.”

“There’s nothing like her,” Brian mutters.

He doesn’t know what he would do without that guitar. Brian has tried out a few at a music shop when his mother offered to buy him a new one for uni, but they just don’t give him the sound he wants. The Red Special never seems to fail to give him exactly what he needs.

“No, but it’s like you’re buckling in a babe.”

Brian flicks Roger off and then walks around to the front of the van. He tugs on the handle only to find that it’s locked.

“Roger, let me in.”

The blond sticks out his tongue before sticking the key into the lock.

“We’ve got a bit of a drive, find something good to listen to.”

Brian flicks through the radio stations, his eyes darting around the front seat. There is another wooden charm hanging from the review mirror, a diagram of something. A few branches linger around the floor, which is surprising because Roger is meticulous. Well, maybe he is meticulous but not about cleaning. It looks like sage. He shakes his head. He is not exactly well versed in what any plant looks like.

He settles on a rock station currently playing Elvis.

Roger taps along to the beat, “how was your week?”

“Decent, one of my professors extended a deadline on a paper. Which is nice, because I’ve been waiting on a book release, and I think it will help support my thesis.”

“Space paper?”

“Interplanetary dust,” Brian says, “but yes, space.”

“Fascinating,” Roger snorts, “what’s so great about dust?”

Brian opens his mouth.

“Rhetorical question.”

Brian pouts. Roger is grinning so he knows that if he wanted to, he _could _talk about the dust. Not that Roger would be listening. He looks out of the window and watches London pass him by. He frowns when they make a turn into a, well not quite, rich neighborhood. Roger _does _have money.

Or one of his flatmates does.

They drive for only a few more minutes and park in front of a charming white building. Roger jumps out and Brian follows a second, towards the back of the van where Roger has grabbed his drumsticks. He hasn’t touched the case which Brian is grateful for, he doubts that any damage could be done to it in the few meters to the opening of the trunk.

Tim might be right in saying he is neurotic about the guitar.

Roger smiles at him.

Brian uses one had to try and flatten his hair, the late day humidity causing it to frizz when it had been laying semi-straight. Roger knocks twice on the door before sticking his key in the lock.

“Freddie doesn’t like us barging in. In case he is in a compromising position,” Roger wiggles his eyebrows.

He flushes.

The flat is nicely furnished. There are a lot of antiques on every surface and paintings in gaudy frames. The stairs are next to the front door. _Two floors? _Brian huffs. He spends a few seconds dreaming of the day he doesn’t live in a glorified closet.

“Freddie?”

“Kitchen!”

Roger sends him a concerned look, “Come out and meet Brian!”

Freddie pops his head out of the kitchen. Brian stares openly for a moment, Freddie is beautiful with dark eyes and sharp features. He is dressed in a silk shirt that looks oddly familiar, but the bright colors only add to his sense of mystery. It’s very similar to the first day he met Roger.

Oh. That’s where the shirt is from.

Because he is staring, he sees how Freddie’s eyes widen and a smile splits his face. It’s quickly covered by his hand. Brian looks away then, aware that his gaze might have been less polite interest and more creepy staring. He looks up at the ceiling. He lets out a breath that there is a water stain. They feel real now, like people Brian can related to.

Freddie saunters towards him, easy and graceful movements that only remind Brian of how awkwardly his long limbs move.

“You’re Brian?”

He nods, “yeah. Freddie, right?”

“Yes,” Freddie holds out his hand.

Brian takes it. Freddie’s grip is stronger than the dainty hands would suggest.

“So how did Roger lure you home? And so early?”

“Tim had something to do,” Roger answers, “you can set you guitar over here, Bri. The cats shouldn’t mess with it.”

Brian walks around the corner to see where Roger is pointing at a blank spot on the wall. Strangely enough the perfect size for his guitar case.

“Cats?”

Right, Roger had mentioned the pets more than once.

“Delilah, say hello.”

When he turns around, he sees two cats watching him intently. He frowns at the gaze, it’s almost like they’re judging him. The fluffier one, a reddish-blonde and white, flicks her tail once before jumping off the back of the couch to rub between Roger’s legs. The other, a calico, squeaks as Freddie picks her up and pulls her to his chest.

“Frankie, you’re being rude.”

The cat, the one rubbing between Roger’s legs, flicks her tail once before trotting towards the steps and up them. Brian watches her go and wonders why he feels like he just failed a test.

“Sit, I’ll get the tea ready!”

Brian looks around the living room. The furniture looks like its antique, made from heavy wood and thick fabric. He takes a step to feel how it sinks under him, only to realize that he hasn’t taken his shoes off. Roger glances down and winces.

“He didn’t notice!” Roger breathes out, “lucky us.”

Roger drops onto the couch without much care of the idea that he may break it and tugs off his trainers before discarding them on the side of the couch. Brian unties his and slips them off. He takes them (and Roger’s) to the front door where there seems to be a dedicated bench for shoes.

He almost feels underdressed in his plain jeans and hoodie that is starting to tear under the arms and socks that have a hole on the bottom. Brian sticks his hands in his pocket and hunches in on himself.

“Thanks!”

Brian smiles as he picks an armchair that doesn’t look like it has been used much. Very aware of what happens when you sit somewhere you shouldn’t, he almost sits on the floor. Roger raises an eyebrow.

“You can relax you know. We didn’t lure you here to feed you then cook you.”

“Uh.”

Roger raises his eyes skyward, “Hansel and Gretel?”

“Right,” Brian coughs.

Freddie brings in a tray filled with tea, a proper set too, with matching dishes and everything. Last month he had to serve his parents with mismatched teacups and then endured a long lecture about how to host properly. He clears his throat when he gets odd looks from both Roger and Freddie.

“I didn’t know how you take it, so I brought everything.”

Roger quickly sorts his out, dropping in a cube of sugar and then shaving part of another in it. Freddie uses honey and a generous amount of milk. Brian usually prefers his with only a trace amount of sugar in it, but because it’s offered, he uses at least two full spoons of honey and at least a teaspoon of milk.

It is a very good cup of tea.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Freddie sets his cup down and leans forward.

“Roger has told me about you,” Freddie says, “but I still have questions.”

Brian blinks, “sure.”

“You’re London born and raised?”

“Hampton, but yes.”

“And you and your father built a guitar?”

Freddie almost looks as excited as Brian did when he had seen her completed days before he could play her for the first time.

“Yes, I have her with me.”

“I’d love to hear her.”

Brian smiles. Roger’s spoken about Freddie’s voice before, usually complaining about hearing singing first thing in the morning, but from what he has heard it’s not a _bad _voice. He is also always eager to play the Red Special with different people, wondering if there’s going to be one that just fits with her.

Roger had.

Freddie’s eyes follow his gaze to where she is leaning against the wall.

“Let’s give your hands a moment to rest. I know Roger must’ve worked them hard.”

He wouldn’t have thought more about the statement except Roger slapped Freddie in the arm after he made a suggestive movement with his hands which resulted in a tussle between the two. They roll off the couch knocking into the tea and spilling it everywhere. Brian stands automatically and moves to the kitchen. He ignores the squabbling pair and searches for an appropriate towel to clean the mess up with.

The only one he can find is the wet one in the sink. He rings it out and soaks it with hot water before wringing it out again. Freddie and Roger have managed to separate themselves and sit on opposite ends of the couch. Tea is still dripping onto the floor.

“Oh, dear, you didn’t have to do that,” Freddie stands and grabs the rag.

Brian stands in the middle of the room. Roger gestures towards the chair he had previously been sitting in. He likes to have something to do with his hands.

He sits on the edge of the seat and watches Freddie clean up the mess. The rag does a surprisingly thorough job and the few spots that have gotten onto the carpet are easily wiped away. Roger lounges on the couch taking up Freddie’s spot.

When Freddie returns, he just sits on Roger’s feet. The blond gives up after a few minutes to save the circulation in his legs. Brian lets out a few quiet laughs. It seems like this is how the act at any time of the day.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Roger pouts.

Freddie waves the statement away, “beauty before bandmates.”

Roger tilts his head up in mock offense, cracking open an eye to see if it had any effect on Freddie. Freddie has moved over to Brian and is tracing the lines of his palm. He hums and clicks his tongue, hesitating over one line.

“It’s broken. How odd.”

Brian stares down at his palm trying to figure out what exactly Fred is talking about.

“Your health line.”

“What?”  
“Palm reading, dear,” Freddie’s finger traces on of the lines, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Fortune telling is rarely exact.”

Roger is watching them with a frown. Freddie turns and shakes his head. Brian purses his lips.

“Roger is very superstitious, you’ll find.”

Brian shrugs, he hadn’t thought that Roger would be the type. He doesn’t have much of a place to judge, considering he has a panic attack any time his pendant is warmed by the sun. His hand drifts up and the pendant is only warm from his body heat. Thankfully.

Freddie drops his hand and sits back on the couch. Roger stands to mess with the TV. Brian rubs his palms on his jeans, he has the urge to _do _things and since he is a guest, he half expects them to sit around and make polite conversation before they separate for the day. That’s what you do with acquaintances.

_This_ is what he does at Tim’s, but that’s only because they’ve been friends for years.

“Bri,” Roger sighs, “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?” Freddie asks.

Brian doesn’t know how to explain it without sounding rude, he shrugs, “a lot of things.”

“Such as?”

He gestures vaguely. Roger rolls his eyes.

“Relax, we’ll have plenty time to get to know each other.”

Brian leans back in the chair and turns his focus to the TV. It’s some sort of sitcom. He doesn’t really get the humor of some of the situations, they just seem stressful. Roger tosses a sugar cube at him.

“Thinking brain off.”

“But –”

Roger tosses another sugar cube at him. He slinks down with his arms crossed and feeling childish he sticks his tongue out at Roger. The expression is returned. Brian lets out a soft laugh when Roger crosses his eyes. He focuses on the television.

After the third episode Brian glances back at the couch to see that Roger is half hanging over the arm snoring lightly, and Freddie is playing with one of the cats. Delilah? He thinks.

“Brian,” Freddie says once he is aware that Brian is looking at him, “where’d you get that necklace?”

Brian grabs it gently, “it was a gift, from my grandmother.”

Freddie nods, “she must have loved you very much.”

“I suppose,” he shrugs, “my mom says it’s nothing more than just a cheap trinket.”

The look Freddie gives him is… odd? Almost disbelieving. Freddie looks over to Roger who is slowly slipping off the couch.

“It doesn’t really matter the cost of it,” Freddie says after a minute.

“She made me promise to never take it off, or maybe she said lose it, and she gave it to me shortly before she died.”

Freddie reaches over and pats him once on the shoulder, “it’s good to honor her.”

Brian blinks. The phrasing is strange, but he understands the sentiment that Freddie is trying to convey. Freddie smiles at him, before covering his mouth again.

“What do you say we tip blondie off the couch and start making dinner?”

He doesn’t have time to protest before Freddie is tugging Roger off the couch and prancing away to the kitchen while Roger tries to figure out what has happened. Brian shuffles nervously on his feet. He hadn’t brought anything over for dinner.

Roger dusts off his pants, “coming?”

Brian bites his cheek.

“We offered,” Roger smiles, “and besides, all you had was that one sandwich this morning.”

Freddie’s head pops out of the kitchen looking scandalized, “Brian!”

“What?” Brian blinks, unsure of why he’s being scolded.

He gets a meaningful look and Brian backs down and kicks at the carpet nervously.

“Say, Roger, I need cream for this, and we’re just about out?”

Roger rolls his eyes, “Bri, you want to come to the store with me?”

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t sound so eager, love,” Freddie laughs, “you’ll make me think you aren’t fond of me.”

Brian flails mentally for a second. That had been rude to answer so quickly but he wants to bring something back for dinner.

“I was kidding, go with Roger.”

Roger grabs his wallet, “store is in walking distance.”

Brian nods.

They walk down the street in silence, Brian mentally kicking himself for all the mistakes he had made. Roger grabs his wrist and they stop in the middle of the sidewalk. At least there was no one behind them.

“Brian, relax, please. What’s going on?”

He bites his lip and tries to think of the best way to phrase this.

“You’re not acting like yourself at all,” Roger tilts his head.

His blue eyes are bright with worry.

He runs a hand through his hair, “it’s. Well. My mother was a very proper sort. Taught me the same way, and –”

Brian doesn’t know how to explain it.

“Okay,” Roger breathes out, “that’s all?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to worry about being proper with us. Just be you. I did mean it when Freddie was excited to meet you, and so is John.”

The words make him swallow thickly. Roger sounds so sincere that it can’t be fake comfort. It is a relief to be told that he doesn’t have to worry about all the different social rules, but now he must not completely make it worse for himself.

“If you _really _want to, you can buy a bottle of wine. None of us will say no.”

Brian lets out a sigh, “red or white?”

“What goes with fish?” Roger grins.


	2. What do you find during sleepless nights?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I caved.   
Don't say I never give you guys anything.  
Enjoy!

Tim hands Brian the beer as he passes. They had been going over one of Brian’s new songs. Roger hadn’t been able to make it, citing an exam that he can’t fail. Weird, since Roger’s interest in school is casual at best, but Brian can’t fault him for wanting to try and do well. He sips the drink before leaning forward to scratch out a word and replace it.

“I’m going to quit Smile.”

Brian chokes, barely avoiding coughing on his lyric sheet, “what?”

“Nothing personal, Bri, before your head goes there –”

Well, he wasn’t going there, but now he is. He gives Tim a look and he grimaces.

“Sorry.”

“Why?” Brian asks.

“Well, I got an offer from Humpy Bong to be lead singer…”

“Really?” He asks flatly.

“And you and Roger, it sounds great but we’re only selling out pubs.”

Brian presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, “and I’ve never heard of Humpy Bong, Tim.”

“But you have to admit you’re taking more advice from Freddie than I am.”

He does nod. Brian values Tim’s input, Smile wouldn’t have lasted if it did if he didn’t. With Freddie, it’s like they’re two halves of the same music brain. Most of the time. Until they start screeching at each other because of creative differences. It usually takes aggressive cymbal rolling from Roger to get them to cut out. Then they are back to being on the same wavelength.

Not to mention Freddie’s voice sounds _fantastic _with the Red Special. He isn’t going to tell Tim that.

“I don’t mean to,” Brian says honestly, “if you feel like I’ve edged you out.”

Tim shakes his head, “no, of course not. I just feel like Humpy Bong is a better band for me.”

Brian grimaces.

Tim frowns, “listen, you can use all of my material for Smile. You and Rog should keep playing.”

“Without a lead singer?”

“You have a nice voice,” Tim shrugs, “Roger too.”

He stands and struggles to keep his temper in check. Tim hasn’t done anything wrong. Smile doesn’t have a contract and at least Tim is giving them permission to use his songs, so they don’t have to scramble for a setlist. It still feels like a slight, that Tim wants to go off into a no-name band when Smile is just gaining traction. They have a demo even.

Brian bites his cheek and paces.

“I thought Roger might take it better from you?”

“You have to tell him,” Brian says firmly, “I’m not going to be your messenger.”

Tim raises his hands, “fine.”

“I’ll call him right now.”

Brian shrugs, “if you’ve made up your mind. Roger won’t agree to have you back if you’ve left us once.”

That does make Tim hesitate for a second, he sighs, “I suppose I have.”

“Is there another reason?” Brian leans forward.

He worries his bottom lip. Is Tim hiding something from him?

“No, Brian,” Tim shakes his head, “I just need a change. This isn’t a _you _thing.”

Brian sniffs, “I wasn’t making it a _me_ thing. I just thought it was strange you’d up and go with the first band that offered you something.”

Tim glances away.

Somehow it is a _him _thing. Brian knows Tim’s tells. He flicks through every encounter that they’ve had recently about how he could have driven one of his closest friends off. It’s not hard to imagine that he could have. He spent a good portion of his secondary school freaking people out with his vacant stares and constant panicking.

Then he spent the rest of his A-levels trying to edge away from “that weird kid” epitaph. University has been different at least, most of the time his panicking and hallucinations have been private. Actually, he hasn’t had a hallucination in over a month.

“And really that’s why it comes down to me staying and watching my band become something that I don’t want it to be or trying to make it big with a band that’s open to my suggestions.”

Brian bites his cheek. Had Tim been talking that entire time? Tim gives him a blank stare and he knows he has been found out. He grimaces.

“Sorry.”

“Brian, you know you’re my friend, but you need to do something about zoning out like that.”

Brian shrinks back, playing with a loose thread on his sleeve. He really doesn’t mean to get so off-topic. There are only so many things that keep him from drifting in his head, and there are a million other things in his head that want his attention.

Tim has an eyebrow raised, “listen, I know it’s a part of… _that _but can you please focus for a moment.”

Brian nods and squeezes his pendant, the sharp edges of the wood cutting his hand. The pain does help, and he sees how displeased Tim is with that.

“I don’t want to part on bad terms.”

“Roger might…”

“Yes, well, Roger and I aren’t as thick as thieves,” Tim gives him a pointed look.

“Sorry. Continue?”

“Like I was saying, you’re my friend, Bri. A good one. If you need to reach out to someone about your… condition, I’ll be there.”

“Have you told Roger yet? Or that flatmate you sometimes meet for tea?”

Brian shakes his head. The thought of telling anyone makes his stomach twist and his hands tremble. Tim had only found out because he stumbled onto Brian during one of his bad hallucinations; he found out the extent of his _problem _when he had to crash at Brian’s flat for a week because of repair work on his bathroom, and Brian spent the entire week awake. Granted several good songs came out of it, but Tim had forced Brian to bed more than once that week.

“No, I haven’t. You know how people react to it.”  
_“He needs help. This place is going to do that for him”_

_“You’re giving him to an institution, Ruth? He’s had this all his life.”_

_“Did you see his hands and arms? What if he hurts himself or worse! That boy is a danger!”_

Tim squeezes his shoulder, “I didn’t react like that, and if you think that’s how it’s going to go, are you sure you want to be around them?”

“I don’t think they’ll react so strongly…”

“Either way, Bri, don’t feel like you have to shut me out and for the love of Christ, _please _take care of yourself.”

Brian offers a tired smile. Tim looks away, upset and guilty before glancing back at him with a smile.

“Now I’m going to call Roger, you should probably get over there to do damage control.”

* * *

John worries at the strings of his bass, one is almost to the point where he needs to replace it before it frays and snaps. This is the first time that he is going to meet Brian. Both Freddie and Roger have spoken about him with nonstop excitement. Frankly, John is curious. Freddie often said that this bandmate of theirs is, well _theirs_.

The bandmate of the band that he should be joining today. Roger beats aimlessly away at his drums, spinning the sticks more than making any noises. Freddie, who had joined the band three weeks prior, is running through vocal warm-ups. John knows that he shouldn’t be so nervous, this is practically set in stone, but he just doesn’t know why this is the first time he is meeting Brian.

He is always out when Brian comes over and somehow Brian always leaves a few minutes before he gets home. If they had known each other John would say he is being iced out.

Unless of course, Roger gave Brian a bad impression about him.

The door to their practice room opens and someone stumbles in. He shakes his head, dark curls flinging water in the entryway and doubled over a guitar case. He looks up, a few strands clinging to his face and water running down to his shirt.

“Shit, it’s raining?” Roger asks.

“It just opened up,” Brian, for this is who it must be, says, “about a block away.”

John stares. Brian isn’t what he expected for all that he matches up to Freddie’s excited ramblings about how he looks. There are dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks look sunken in. What Roger has described as bright hazel is dimmed into a soft ember.

Clearly something is going on.

“Right then,” Freddie claps his hands, “John, this is Brian. Brian this is John.”

Brian sticks his hand out and John shakes it. He sends a little spark of magic between them, and Brian’s presence lights up in the space of his head that is linked to all the people he is connected to. His mouth drops open for a second, but he covers it up with a yawn, which only less rude by a margin.

“Sorry. John Deacon.”

“Brian May.”

Roger is looking between them and grinning like a mad man.

“Pleasure,” Brian says.

John nods and feels something dark surrounding Brian. He looks around the room but doesn’t find anything. Roger had mentioned that he thinks Brian is being haunted. Brian sets the case down next to the couch.

_“It’s weird,” Roger had said the night that he met Brian, “that he sees them so clearly, but has no idea?”_

_“It could be that he’s just a human,” Freddie shrugs, “sometimes they get Gifts.”_

_“It’d be an odd coincidence.”_

John is certain that it is no coincidence now. Brian is their fourth like Freddie saw and the fact that he can feel Brian (feel the magic just coiled below the surface). He shakes his head and smiles. Brian releases his lip which he had been gnawing on and his shoulders drop.

Instead, he looks around and grabs at the pendant on his necklace. The hairs on the back of John’s neck prickle. He spins and looks in the direction that Brian is. Hazel eyes suddenly flick to the other side of him and Brian takes a step back.

Brian drops to the ground. Covering his ears and bending over to block out his vision. John can’t hear the quiet words coming from him, but he is too busy trying to figure out what’s happening. Freddie moves towards Brian.

“I think it’s another spirit,” Roger says quietly, “this is what he was like with the banshee.”

Freddie’s hand touches Brian’s shoulder which causes Brian to rear back and kick away from the singer. His eyes are trained on the spot on the wall directly in front of John. He takes a step to fully be in Brian’s line of sight, hoping that Roger is right and that’s what’s happening.

“Roger, can you?”

“Right,” Roger looks back at Brian.

He stands next to John pulling out a tiny bead from a loop on his bracelet. Roger holds it between his fingers gently.

“Where is it?”

John closes his eyes. He can feel a faint presence trying to edge around to the right of him. When John turns around, he sees that it’\ is where Brian’s gaze has moved too.

“That way.”

Roger tosses the bead on the ground right in front of where he hopes the spirit is. Magic fills the room and now John feels himself breathing easier. He can’t imagine what it must feel like to Brian, their newest companion must do more than just see spirits.

Freddie is still hovering next to Brian, not touching him. John can see how he wants to. Roger goes to the side of him, gentle green magic sparking around his fingers. Likely a calming spell. Brian keeps heaving shaky breathes, digging his palms into his eyes. John tuts softly.

“Bri, may I touch you?” Roger asks quietly.

To his relief, Brian nods.

Roger’s hands touch down on him and the reaction is instantaneous. John feels the tight electricity of Brian unwind. Wait, had he been feeling the spirit’s effects on Brian through the bond? He prods at it. It feels normal. Brian could have opened it up searching for relief. If Brian is performing unintentional magic like that, there’s no wonder he is haunted.

Brian inhales and pushes himself off the ground. He is pacing and John just wants him to stop. The nervous energy is making him twitch. John goes back to his bass and plucks at the strings.

“How are you feeling, Brian?” Freddie asks.

Brian shakes his head, “I have to go.”

“What?” Roger screeches at the same time Freddie declares, “you can’t!”

“No really, I need to.”

“Not going to happen,” John says lightly, crossing his arms.

“You freaked out because there was a – for no reason,” Roger’s face screws up, “and you think we’re just going to let you leave?”

The electricity is coiled again, sparking energetically. Roger opens his mouth, but Freddie shakes his head.

“Lay down, and we can talk about it when you don’t look like you’re about to pass out,” Freddie smiles.

Brian complies, taking the spot on the ratty rehearsal couch. His eyes are even less bright than when he first came into the studio. John knows he is exhausted; he can feel it through the bond (and he wonders if a bond has ever become so stable so fast.)

He shakes his head; he knows they don’t. It’s Brian, his magic and mind reaching out for something stable, which is him. John steps forward and crouches in front of where Brian is sitting.

“Sorry,” Brian murmurs.

“Don’t be,” John says softly, “I’m glad… whatever that was happened in here and not on the streets. Rest, like Freddie, said we’re going to talk about it later.”

Roger has chalk out and is drawing symbols on the walls. John tilts his head and then nods in approval. The protection seals should keep out the most minor ghosts. Which is what Brian should be attracting. Terrifying for the unprepared but mostly harmless.

After a few more seconds of coaxing, Brian lays down. John walks around the corner in search of a glass of water, which he conjures into a clean looking mug. He also summons a blanket by flicking his hand out. It’s soft and baby blue in color.

Hopefully, Brian doesn’t ask about it. John walks back into the room to see that Freddie is also adding markings to the wall. Brian is curled on the couch, impossibly small for someone with as long as limbs as Brian. The guitarist is already asleep or near to it because he doesn’t stir once when John drops the blanket over him. Roger is sitting back on his stool twirling his drumsticks with more force.

“Well,” Freddie looks around the room, “that’s certainly a memorable introduction.”

John snorts.

“How’d it even get in here?” Roger tilts his head, “John, I thought that you?”

He gestures vaguely.

“Usually they keep away, but if they think the prize is worth more,” John shrugs.

Which begs the question of _why _Brian is worth anything at all. An unawakened witch with clairvoyance is unusual, John knows, but he can’t figure out the benefit of getting ahold of Brian. Once he figures that out then he is sure the hauntings will lessen. If Brian is ever going to want to be their fourth, he is going to need to have a good night’s sleep first.

“Our first session is a bust,” Roger says, “let’s let Brian rest for a bit and then go back to our flat for dinner.”

“Brian too?”

“One ghost attack is just a ballsy ghost, two is starting to become a trend,” Roger says.

Well, protecting Brian without letting him know they’re witches (Roger’s rule, enforced only because he said, “I have a bad feeling about him finding out.”) ought to go well. John looks at the sleeping guitarist and feels an uneasy spark along their bond. He moves over and sits down next Brian, the bond settles slightly.

Thirty minutes later Brian jumps awake with a soft stutter breath. He blinks and rubs his eyes. It’s sort of adorable, except that Brian doesn’t look any more rested than when he had laid down. John rolls his neck; it’s cramping from having it at such an odd angle for as long as he had.

“Ah, sorry,” Brian says with his voice soft from sleep.

Roger shakes his head, “no worries.”

Brian swallows and looks between them. His hands fidget nervously in his lap, and then he is on his feet grabbing his guitar case. Freddie steps in front of him casually.

“We were planning on going back to our flat.”

John stands with Roger’s help, hearing a string of rejections from Brian’s lip. Freddie swings an arm around Brian’s shoulders swinging him around to face them.

“What do you say, boys,” Freddie grins, “we bring Brian back to out flat for scrabble and beer?”

Roger grins and John rolls his eyes. Brian shakes his head.

“Freddie, I don’t want to…”

“Truly?” Freddie frowns.

“I’d like to,” Brian says quietly, “but it’s been a bad day.”

“You don’t have to play,” Roger adds, “just come over.”

“We would rather you be with us, in case it happens again.”

Brian swallows, “I don’t want to… bother you with _that_.”

“Good thing you won’t,” Freddie smiles pulling Brian closer to him.

It earns them a tiny squeak from Brian as well as the slightest smile. John flashes Freddie a quick wink. They pack up quickly, straightening their practice room as much as they can. Roger wipes off the chalk from the wall, having to only rearrange the kit. He leaves Freddie’s seals up. John grabs his bass and slings it over his back before signaling that he is ready to leave.

Brian grabs his case and bites his bottom lip.

“If you apologize one more time, I won’t forgive you.”

Roger is wrapped around Brian’s other arm, almost pulling him lopsided. Brian fights against the hold for only a second, seeming to accept that this is just how Roger is. John snickers into his hand. He hadn’t believed Roger at first when he practically kicked open the door vibrating with the news about finding Brian. John sees why, now, the way Brian is _gentle. _A nervous wreck no doubt, but gentle.

Freddie has stopped hanging off Brian, fearing for the guitar.

“I hope it’s stopped raining,” Brian mumbles looking at the soaked vinyl of his case.

“We have the van; it can survive 30 seconds.”

Brian looks back down at his case.

“Or I can pull it ‘round.”

Roger looks back at him, “are you certain?”

“If you’re willing.”

John raises an eyebrow at Roger’s attempt to sound reluctant. He shrugs. It’s just water, he will have to let himself get wet, but not until he gets closer to the van. He doubts Brian would know how saturated his hair would have to be. Instead, he hands his case over to Freddie and pulls over the hood of his jumper before pushing through the door.

For a moment he jogs until he is out of sight and then simply slows back down. Running and platform shoes don’t normally mix, and he would hate to waste a spell just to repair an injury from his stupidity. The van is of course parked in the furthest spot from the door. A couple runs past him trying to get to shelter.

Once at the van he hides some of their charms in the glove compartment. Brian has been in it before, but maybe the skull charms aren’t the most reassuring thing to see. As soon as he pulls in front of the door, Freddie whose lips are pushed out in a pout runs out to get the trunk open. He climbs into the back as soon as it is.

Both Roger and Brian run out and put the cases away carefully before getting into the van. Brian in the back next to Freddie. John grabs the towel from the front seat and tosses it to Brian, much to Freddie and Roger’s displeasure.

Brian squeezes the water out of his hair. The poor towel is already soaked, and he hands it over to Freddie. It gets tossed over the seat and into the back. Roger grimaces at the action.

“Don’t mess up my van.”

“It’s already messy, darling.”

Freddie holds up a candy bar wrapper and crinkles it. Roger sticks out his tongue and turns his nose up. John rolls his eyes and puts the van into gear. The drive is only twenty minutes, but the late afternoon traffic turns it into an hour. Brian is slumped over on Freddie’s shoulder, even snoring lightly.

He smiles at the scene in the rearview mirror.

* * *

They go through most of the alcohol in their house. John hadn’t remembered to stock up on it this month, and he still feels guilty for using his mother’s money on booze. At least they had enough to get them all pleasantly buzzed, and in Brian’s case completely drunk.

Somehow Brian was still beating them in scrabble. Roger had to waste his turn setting two Ls on an A and then Brian had added “otropy” which as the judge John had to rule a valid word. Freddie is pouting because now he’s losing even worse and struggling to figure out what to play. He knows that all Freddie has is consonants but manages to eek out a G and D onto the second O of allotropy.

John spells out motor using blank tiles on the other part of the board. It knocks Roger into second place. He gets a nice score on the word “type.” Once Brian’s turn comes around Freddie must nudge him awake. Brian starts and scans the board before adding “ized” to the end motor.

To no one’s surprise, Roger stands up and takes a breather from the game because Brian is too far ahead of them now to hope to catch up. John shrugs at Freddie’s annoyed expression.

“Just as well we’re calling it,” John nods towards Brian.

The guitarist has nodded off. His cheek puffs out as he uses his arms as a pillow snoring heavily. Freddie reaches over to poke Brian in the face, which earns him an adorably annoyed scrunch of his face. He repeats the action.

Brian’s eyes flutter open, “whaaaa?”

“C’mon you can use our guest bedroom.”

Brian whines as Freddie and John both struggle to pull him upwards. He leans on John as Freddie moves ahead to get the bed turned down and the sheets clean, despite not being used. John tosses Brian onto the bed. The guitarist makes a quiet sniffle before pulling his limbs tightly to himself.

“He’s like a bird,” Freddie says softly, “look at how delicate he looks.”

John nods in agreement, with his thin frame and pointed features he can see how Freddie reached that conclusion.

“Our little Birdie.”

Freddie smooths the mass of curls back. John hadn’t even noticed that the rain had caused them to curl up again.

“His hair is a bird’s nest.”

He snorts as Freddie turns towards him offended.

“His hair is perfectly beautiful.”

John guides Freddie out of the room worried that Brian might wake up and overhear them. Roger has calmed down and even cleaned up the game in apology.

“He settled?” Roger asks.

“Like a bird in a nest.”

“What?”

“It’s a Fred thing.”  
Roger nods like that explained anything. Freddie huffs and tilts his nose up. John grins and leans over to place a light kiss on Freddie’s cheek. When it earns him a sliver of brown John kisses him again slowly moving to his lips. He feels arms wrap around his shoulders, but he is too busy enjoying the push of Freddie’s tongue into his mouth.

They break apart panting light, “wanted to do that all day.”  
Freddie smiles and kisses him again.

“Oy, what am I?”

“A brat,” John replies dryly.

Roger squawks which turns into a yelp as John pulls him closer. Their kiss is much more heated than his with Freddie’s. He feels Roger tug him down and pull on his hair as he tangles it together. John puts a knee between Roger’s legs and groans when Roger starts rutting against him.

“A-hem.”  
They break apart, Roger whining loudly, “you can join Freddie.”  
“As much as I would like to, we do have a guest we aren’t trying to scare off.”  
“Brian won’t care,” Roger mumbles kissing up John’s neck.

“No, Fred’s right.”

Roger leans back, “Brian doesn’t care about any of this.”  
“Maybe not if it were just two men.”  
“John?” Roger stares up at him.

He clears his throat back, “I am connected to him.”

A bright smile breaks out across Roger’s face. Freddie cheers.

“He’s the fourth?”

John inclines his head, “yeah.”

“And he is a witch as I thought?”

“He isn’t awakened.”

Freddie shrugs and picks up the scrabble box before setting it back on their game shelf. Roger plays with the end of his hair, thinking deeply. Soft golden light filters into their flat. The rain as stopped and it’s evening. It catches on Roger’s hair and makes it shine brighter than normal and it paints Freddie in an alluring shade.

John has no idea how he’s gotten so lucky.

“He’s an interesting one,” John says to break the silence.

Roger kisses his jaw, trying to capture his attention again. Freddie huffs and slumps against John’s side. Freddie grabs Roger’s head and they end up kissing. John wiggles out of the embrace and heads towards the kitchen.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Mm” Roger grunts, “whatever.”

John digs around the cabinet and pulls out a half-empty package of pasta and sets the water to boil. He uses up the last of the tomatoes and sets the sauce to simmer. Roger has informed him that Brian isn’t that big on eating meat, so he hopes pasta is good enough.

“Don’t get too wrapped up there,” John calls when he hears Roger’s breathy squeaks, “Dinner will be done in fifteen.”

“That’s enough time for blondie!”

He laughs as Roger’s argument is cut off with a loud moan. As confident as John is in Freddie’s talent and how aware he is of Roger’s stamina (or lack of) the last thing he wants is Brian walking in on them… or their dinner getting cold.

“We have guests.”

Roger whines, “tell Fred – oh don’t stop.”

John sighs and stirs the sauce adding in a few of the leftover tomatoes he deiced as well as some red pepper flakes. He bites his cheek to force his arousal down as he hears Roger’s moans. It sounds like he has a pillow to stifle the sounds.

He clears his throat and fills up a glass of water. Brian’s signature starts sparking wildly in his head. John sets the cup down and prods at the bond. It calms slightly and John lifts the cup to his lips again keeping the bond wide open to feel if it starts again. Next to Brian’s bond Roger’s and Freddie’s are twisted together slipping into one another.

John groans as he feels Roger’s start to grow brighter. It merges into Freddie’s. He sips at the water again and checks the pasta.

Roger shouts and his bond separates. John bites into his hand as he feels himself nearly pushed to the edge. Freddie’s bond separates from Roger’s a second later. He gasps at the feeling bucking his hips against nothing.

Brian’s bond sparks brighter and then a scream echoes through the house. John magics the stove off before dashing upstairs towards the guest bedroom. Roger and Freddie are pulling themselves together. He flings the door open and sees that Brian is thrashing around on the bed gasping and clawing at his chest.

“Brian?”

There is no response. Brian thrashes more kicking the sheet off. His face is twisted into a grimace. John nudges at the bond and catches a flicker of peace on his face. It’s gone and Brian turns over and lashes out with his legs. He doesn’t want to touch Brian while in the middle of a nightmare, but he can’t think of any other way.

When Brian kicks out again and John catches his wrist and sends a spark of magic through his palm _wake. _That does work and Brian sits up clutching at his chest holding the pendant there tightly. Their eyes meet and he sees Brian duck into himself.

“Sorry,” Brian whispers.

John shakes his head again, “don’t apologize, are you okay?”

Brian coughs once and rubs the back of his neck, “it’s a nightmare. It’s nothing.”

“That’s not what I asked,” John moves a little closer.

He watches Brian pull his knees to his chest, “I’ll be okay.”

John bites his lip, “well, dinner is almost ready.”

“Not hungry.”

“Come get water, at least.”

Brian shakes his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing,” John holds out his hand.

He lets out a tiny breath when Brian takes it after a second. The pendant shimmers softly in the golden light. A traditional charm cut out of a wood John can’t identify, it’s powerful too, and that means it is new. He has never seen magic like this before.

“John?”

“Er, sorry,” John frowns, “I was lost in my head a bit. When I was younger, I used to suffer from nightmares.”

“But you grew out of it.”

“I did,” John nods, “but I know that a glass of water is a good way to start calming down and sobering up more.”

“Uh, I’ll try it.”

They move out of the room. Hopefully, he has given the other two enough time to clean themselves up. Freddie looks up from where he is picking up a few stray dishes from the living room. He is curious, John can tell by the slight jump in his bond. Brian smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head.

“Are you alright, Birdie?”

“What?” John and Brian say at the same time.

“Sorry, it’s just earlier you reminded me of a bird,” Freddie smiles.

“Oh,” John shrugs.

It’s Freddie’s nickname habit thing. Although he thought Brian was going to remain Brimi.

“My grandmother used to call me that,” Brian says softly.

“Oh, then I won’t call you that.”

“It’s fine… actually, I like hearing it again.”

John can’t fight the smile that breaks out when he sees the large smile on Brian’s face. His canines poking out. When he looks at Roger and Freddie, he knows they’re in trouble too. Now all he must do is figure out what the dark aura around Brian is from and he’s certain they’ll see the smile a lot more.

Yeah. He can live with that.

* * *

Brian sets the last box down in his new room. The air conditioning in his flat had finally died, and after about a week of bumming at his bandmates’ flat, they just decided he should move in. His landlord had taken very little convincing to cancel his lease. Brian himself had taken a lot of convincing to move in because he can’t really afford even a fraction of the rent.

His concern had been waved away.

Now he has a new place to live and so many more problems than just a broken air conditioner.

Roger pops his head into his room, his blond hair pulled into a ponytail to help with the heat.

“Heya, Birdie,” Roger smiles.

Ah. Problem number one. His massive and entirely unprofessional crush on Roger.

“Hi, Rog,” his voice cracked, and he flushes.

Roger spins and lands backward on his bed wrinkling his nicely tucked-in duvet. Brian cuts open the box and checks inside, it’s all his textbooks. He pulls them out before organizing them by author.

“Almost settled?” Roger props up on one arm.

“Nearly,” Brian examines the little bookends.

They’re in the shape of an owl, a moving out gift from one of his neighbors. He spotted ones that looked like foxes in the market the other day. Maybe he should buy those when he has spare money. Roger makes a grabby hand and he hands it over.

“Cute,” Roger runs his finger over the engraved feathers.

“I like them.”

Roger gives it back to him.

“Think you can take a break or are you that close?”

Brian places it on the shelf, “depends on what you had in mind.”

“How rude,” Roger sniffs, “no, we just wanted to go out in a celebratory dinner?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, now that Queen is finally under the same roof and all.”

“Is that something to celebrate?” Brian teases.

“You are,” Roger smiles.

Brian chokes and digs around the box just so Roger won’t see the blush crawling down his face. That’s not something someone says casually! He finds a few of the odd wood carvings that his grandmother gave him and stacks them on the bookshelf instead of answering Roger’s question.

“Brian!”

Freddie pokes his head into the room, “has Roger asked you yet?”

Ah, problem number two. His growing and an entirely unprofessional crush on Freddie.

Roger is on his feet poking at the wood carvings, “we should hang them up. And I have.”

“And has he answered?”

Freddie picks up his bookend. Brian rolls his eyes and takes both objects back and puts them where they should be.

“No,” Roger huffs.

“Brian, come to dinner with us! We must celebrate the start of our new lives!”

“Freddie, I’ve just moved in, not brought a record deal with me.”

Freddie lifts one finger to the sky, “but that’s the secret. All bands should be inseparable. Now we’re certainly going to get one.”

“Oh?” Brian grins, “see the future, can you?”

“He likes to say he can,” John enters.

And there is problem number three. His start of an entirely unprofessional crush on John.

“Is there going to be a no closed-door policy?” Brian wonders.

Oh, there is his physics notebook.

“No locked doors,” Roger says, “well, they don’t lock anyway, but even if they did, don’t.”

Brian pushes the notebook into the slot on his shelf by the class it’s meant to go next to. He doesn’t like how it looks and puts it on the other side, digging out the second bookend.

“Brian?”

“Yes?”

“Are we going to dinner or no?” John raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Brian tugs the band on his ponytail.

“Are we going?”

“Brian is letting his hair down, finally.”

“A restaurant not a club!” Brian protests.

Freddie pouts, “fine, but I’ll get you to one yet, Birdie.”

Brian shakes his head, “I’ve gone to one before!”

“Really, you weren’t lost?”

Brian tosses a scrap of packing tape at Roger’s head. Roger tosses it right back at him. This time when Brian tosses it Roger bounces it back and John picks it up throwing it into the trash.

“Come along children,” John laughs.

“I’m not a child,” Roger complains.

“You’re a brat,” John amends.

He watches as Roger bounces over to John and places a quick kiss on the cheek. Freddie smacks John on the behind as he passes. John grins after them.

“See you downstairs.”

There lays problem number four. The people he has crushes on are all dating each other.

* * *

At first, Brian thinks it’s the new bed. The bed that his bandmates gave him is much nicer and softer than any he has routinely slept in. It’s left his hip aching in the morning. Brian grows accustomed to it, though and he crosses it off the list.

Brian rubs his eyes and turns over. His eyes used to the dark that he can make out the time on analog clock across the room. It’s past three and he has only managed two hours of sleep. He drops his head more firmly on the pillow. Then groans and sits up, he flips it over and then drops back down onto the cool side.

Everything is making him sleepy, but he just can’t sleep. Brian lets out another huff. Does he have too much on his mind?

His classes. His assignments. The Band. Writing songs. His bandmates. The fact that he has a hopeless crush on the three of them. The fact that he is not as straight as previously assumed. Now he must tell his parents that.

Okay. Brian sighs and rolls over. He might have too much on his mind.

Brian gives up on sleep and stands up. There is nothing he can do about anything else, but he can work on material for what Freddie wants to put on their first album. He steps out, forgoing his house shoes.

Down the hall he can make out the quiet sounds of his bandmates sleeping. Brian smiles slightly, before climbing down the steps. He blinks when he sees light from the kitchen. Who would it be? Brian lightens his steps and peers around the corner to see Roger sitting on top of the counter. He’s scribbling something down, his tongue poking between his lips.

Brian coughs. Roger whips his head up, mouth parted and hair haloing his face.

“Oh, I didn’t think anyone else was up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Roger frowns, “is there something wrong?”

“No,” Brian shakes his head, “this happens. It’s called insomnia, Mr. Biology student.”

“Biology, not medicine,” Roger mutters.

Brian digs around the cabinet for a glass of water. John was right about it being helpful. The water soothes his throat. Maybe the air in his room is too dry? No, it’s just his insomnia again. He rubs at his eyes again, they’re gritty and itchy.

Roger nudges him with his foot, “stop rubbing. It’s bad for your eyes.”

He stops and dries to blink away the sandy feeling.

“There’s really nothing?” Roger tilts head, “you just can’t sleep?”

“Nothing.”

They fall silent. Brian finishes the glass and starts a second one before speaking again. 

“What are you working on?”

“It’s a song,” Roger hands it over, “I was thinking about writing it in my range rather than Freddie’s.”

Brian raises his eyebrows in surprise. He reads over the sloppily made stanzas and reads some of the lyrics. It’s nice. Very much a Roger Taylor original.

“I like it, you would sound good singing it.”

“Yeah?”

“Your voice is good. Freddie’s is too,” Brian shrugs, “you could be lead in a band.”  
“Just not this one?”

“Do you want to fight Freddie for it?”

Roger laughs, “drumming and singing sounds like hard work.”

Brian takes another sip.

“Your voice is good too, need to stay on tempo, but that’s a problem with your guitar as well.”

He pouts, “I don’t lag that much.”

“Maybe I thought you were going too fast.”

“Too fast for Mr. Pick-Up-The-Tempo? How many times do you complain about beats crawling?”

“We’re a rock n’ roll band, not a bloody waltz band.”

Brian rolls his eyes and sets his now empty cup in the sink. He must do dishes in the morning either way. Roger drops from the counter and reclaims his notebook.

“Going to bed?”

“I’ll be in my room,” Brian shrugs.

“Then keep me company,” Roger asks quietly.

“Huh?”

Roger gestures towards the living room. Brian follows.

“C’mon, since neither of can sleep, it’s better than being lonely all night.”

Brian sits on the couch pulling himself down. Roger props his socked feet on the table. He traces the pattern on the couch. Could he get up and grab one of his textbooks? A hand grips his shoulder and tugs him down. He squeaks but Roger quickly settles him in his lap. He has a blush high on his cheeks. Thankfully it’s covered by the dark of the room and his hair.

Roger tangles his fingers in his curls and scratches lightly. His hand is warm. Brian finds himself relaxing at the feeling. He listens to Roger hum along to his song and the scratches of pencil on paper. Traffic whizzes by at a low hum. The hand on his head is warm.

Slowly he falls asleep.

* * *

“Again, Brian?”

Brian looks up from the crossword he has resorted to doing. His assignments are all done, and he is caught up on his reading. For whatever reason, his muse has abandoned him. So four a.m. crosswords it is.

This time it’s Roger who caught him. Yesterday, or what he thinks was yesterday, John had dragged him back to his bedroom. Sometime earlier this week Freddie made them cuddle on the couch. It’s strange that he only falls asleep with them. Brian hopes he hasn’t conditioned himself.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t apologize,” Roger steals his pencil, “sleep, Birdie.”

Brian runs a hand down his face, “I wish it were that easy.”

Roger sighs, “come on.”

“No, Roger, I don’t want to keep you up.”

“I’m up aren’t I?”

He pouts when Roger returns his newspaper to the stack waiting to be recycled. Roger tries to drag him off the stool. Brian clicks his jaw and pulls back. “Roger, no.”

Roger drops his arms and opens his mouth before firmly pressing his lips together.

“Bri…”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep, so just do what you got up for,” he snaps.

Roger’s eyes widen.

Brian stands up and moves towards his bedroom. He knows Roger was just trying to be helpful, but he is tired and hasn’t slept well in he doesn’t know how many nights. His bed is a painful reminder of what he can’t have, but he drops onto it anyway with a heavy sigh.

Great, now he feels bad about hurting Roger’s feelings. He tugs the duvet over his head and sighs again. It’s stuffy and hot for summer heat, but it’s safe.

When he hears footsteps, he pokes his head out of his cocoon, Roger is leaning against his door frame. He steps into the room and Brian scowls before he lets it go with a huff. Roger is going to do whatever he wants. Something sets on his nightstand, and to his surprise it’s a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” Roger murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” he echoes.

Roger bites his bottom lip and he wiggles to the other side of the bed. He smiles slightly when Roger wastes no time climbing in next to him.

“They won’t mind?” Brian asks quietly.

“No. We’re all worried about you.”

He shrugs, “it’s okay. It’ll pass.”

Roger maneuvers closer to him and grabs his hand, “you’re suffering through.”

Brian gives another half shrug, “I’m used to it.”

He wonders why Roger’s hands are always so warm. They lay together, Roger is surprisingly quiet and still. Brian raises his eyes and is surprised to see that the blond has already fallen asleep. His lips are parted, and Brian can hear tiny snores and he laughs quietly.

Brian traces Roger’s face with his eyes. He sits up at the feeling that someone is watching him, his spine prickles at the sensation. Brian looks around the room, and then slowly turns his head towards the window. There’s a shadow there, eyes pure white. It taps on the window and its hand pierces through the glass.

The entire shadow climbs through the window.

He sits up and cracks his head against Roger’s. The blond recoils rubbing his forehead, but his eyes are trained on Brian. Brian looks towards the window and only sees the building across the street. His hands shake as he rubs at the spot that struck Roger.

Had that been a dream? What… what part of that been a dream?

“Birdie,” Roger says softly, “are you okay?”

Did he go downstairs? He had gone to bed early because of his exhaustion. Then did he have a fight with Roger and the dream started when he came back up?

“I – nightmare?” He says.

Brian stares at his blanket, his finger coasts across the plaid pattern. Maybe Roger had come up to make amends with him and Brian had followed him to sleep because Roger had felt so real and warm.

“Bri?” Roger sits on the bed.

That’s not the shirt he had been wearing in the kitchen.

“Hey, Bri, you’re really starting to worry me.”

He shakes his head, trying to clear it, “sorry.”

Roger reaches out cupping Brian’s face gently, “it’s fine. Talk to me, please.”

“Did we have an argument in the kitchen?”

Brian looks towards the clock. It’s only two a.m!

“What? Bri, what are you talking about? You went to bed like… five hours ago. How could we argue?”

He wants to trust that this isn’t a dream as well. It had been four in the kitchen. Now it’s two?

Brian leans into the hand, it’s warm, like in his dream. He frowns.

“I don’t know if this is a dream again.”

Roger gasps quietly, “Bri it isn’t.”  
He doesn’t know that it isn’t. Roger stands up and offers both his hands. Brian takes them.

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me,” Roger smiles.

He stands not entirely sure how Roger is going to prove that this isn’t a dream.

“Lean back,” he says.

Brian does so. His arms are fully straightened and the only thing holding him up is Roger. Roger lets go.

He yelps as he falls back against the bed.

“What the hell?”

“If it was a dream that would’ve woken you up before you hit the bed.”

Brian blinks, “what?”

“It’s a psychology thing. I read about it in one of those doctor's office magazines.”

He laughs, “really?”

“Yeah,” Roger smiles brightly, his tongue poking through his teeth, “I’ll always make sure you know what’s real, so trust me?”

They’ve only known each other for a few months, but Brian finds that he trusts Roger completely.

* * *

Three days after that night Roger corners Brian in their music room. He is replacing a string that snapped during practice, his hands much steadier now that he has gotten two full nights of rest.

“Hey Birdie, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Roger sings.

Brian sets the Red Special to the side, curious and slightly wary of the mess that Roger could cause with those words. 

Roger has his hands behind his back and bouncing on his toes.

“Okay?”

“What’s with that face?” Roger pouts, “I promise it won’t bite you.”

“It says a lot that you have to promise it.”

Roger rolls his eyes, “whatever.”

Brian sits completely facing Roger. He tries to think if there’s a reason for a gift but can’t find any. Does Roger expect something in return? Roger sits in the spare chair and pulls a box from behind his back. He takes it and examines it. It looks like a necklace box.

“Roger?”

“Open it!”

He takes the lid off and isn’t any less confused. There’s a silver chain inside of it, bound by delicate links. A pendant is already clasped to it. A rose carved out of pink stone. Brian lifts it and holds it up to the light. It’s pretty but…

“Why?”

Roger bites his cheek, “I just felt like it.”

That’s a lie, “but why this particular one?”

“I thought it was nice.”

It is, Brian just doesn’t understand why he is getting this now. He also only wears one necklace. His hand drifts up to the pendant that he is currently wearing.

“I appreciate it, Rog, but I rather like mine.”

Roger rolls his eyes, “put the old pendant on this one! Please?”

Brian nods. He doesn’t want to seem ungrateful about the gift. Carefully, so he doesn’t tangle it, he sets it back in the box and unties the leather cord around his neck. It feels strange to have the weight off. The leather is starting to rip too. Huh.

The pendant slides off easily. It feels strangely heavy in his hand. The twisted lines of the wood shine in the light. He has never been quite able to figure out what it was supposed to be. It almost resembles a tumbleweed from the American cowboy movies.

The rose and the pendant don’t look as odd as he thought they would next to each other. Roger reaches out for the necklace.

“Let me?”

Brian hands it over to him before lifting his hair. Roger stands behind him and dangles the necklace in front of him before wrapping around his neck. He blushes as Roger’s fingers skim along the back of his neck. Once Roger steps away Brian raises his hand to feel the new pendant. It’s cool to the touch but he feels a swell of fondness for Roger.

“Thank you.”

Roger smiles, “it looks nice on you.”

He blushes brighter when Roger reaches over to examine the tiny rose. Roger drops it when he hears the front door open.

“Oh, lovelies! We have dinner!”

Roger jumps up. Brian follows much more slowly, his hand going back up to play with the new pendant.

When he enters the kitchen Roger and Freddie are already fighting over a container of food. John nods in greeting before his eyes drift down to the necklace. His eyebrows drift up into his hairline and he glances at Roger.

Roger notices the glance and shrugs. Freddie stables his chopsticks into the container and comes out victorious with a piece of chicken.

“Oy!”

Brian laughs.

“Oh, thank you, Deaky.”

John smiles again as Brian takes the container of vegetarian stir fry. Roger manages to wrest the container away from Freddie.

“You know we have two, right?” John sighs.

“Yes,” Freddie says as he tries to wrap around Roger.

A pepper falls to the ground in their struggle.

“Any mess you make, you’ll have to clean up.”

That makes them pause. Freddie begrudgingly grabs the second container and pokes at it with a pout. Brian laughs again and ignores how John’s gaze lingers on his necklace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr.  
Also, some uh, nice things are happening, no?


	3. Is there a better word?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caved. I am weak.  
Happy early update everyone. Enjoy!

_“The boy who loves the stars, will not know what you are. To tell him is to bring the end. To hide it, will weaken him.”_

Roger rolls over trying to shake the words out of his head. Winnifred Taylor is not an oracle, but she had many whispering into her ear. He is a proud Taylor. It rubs at his ego for him to hide the fact like he is ashamed of it, but if it is Brian’s life on the line he will bite his tongue.

The end sounds too ominous for him to do anything else. They’re getting good at pretending that whatever spirits test their mettle against Brian are just hallucinations. They aren’t. John has felt them enough to confirm it, but Brian thinks they are.

A scream forces him upright. John reacts automatically by rolling out of bed. Roger jumps up and follows him. He stumbles when a blast of icy air hits him. It feels like his entire body is frozen, the air in his lungs gets stuck. John shakes his head and pushes through it. After a moment Roger can move too.

John runs his shoulder into the door, but it doesn’t budge. He steps back and kicks at it with a flat foot. Roger automatically spins a healing spell when he hears the solid crack. John lets out a soft sigh.

“Thank you!”

Fire sparks to life between John’s fingers and he wiggles the knob before it opens. Brian is pressed in the corner holding his arms above his head to protect his head. Roger breathes out and it comes out as a cloud. He shivers. John spins around looking towards the window. His eyes follow the movement.

Roger is forced backward by a gust of air; he stumbles and falls onto his behind. His hair stands on end from the chill. The window is covered in a thin layer of frost, and it is slowly crawling across the wall. Roger breaks one of his stored spells and the chill dissipates from him. His breath is still coming out in clouds, and the frost stops around him but keeps moving across the floor.

“Roger, banish it!”

He digs around for his sage but remembers that he is in his pajamas. He grabs a pencil from the desk next to the door and begins sketching out the sigil on the door frame. Roger looks towards Brian and watches as the sleeves of his pajamas rip. Thin red lines scratch down his arm. At least the thing isn’t tangible enough to shred Brian.

Yet.

The pencil lead breaks, and he curses. John is crouched in front of Brian now holding out one hand to ward off whatever it is. Roger wallows the magic in the air in his mouth. It is heavy and tainted.

“Birdie, Brian,” John coos, “what are you seeing?”

Brian shakes his head and lets out a sharp gasp.

“Roger!”

He’s trying to remember what spell to sharpen a pencil. Is there one? There is a sharpening spell, would that work?

“_Acri.”_

The wood folds back to give him a blade. Roger shrugs and starts scratching the sigil into the door. It takes a little more effort and is slower. He glances towards the two in the corner. Brian is fully curled into himself holding onto his scratched arm. John grits his teeth and splays his fingers wider as though it would keep it away.

“Brian…”

“No! Don’t touch me!”

John looks towards him. Roger scratches into the wood faster. His pencil breaks again. Freddie trips over his leg in the hallway.

“What on earth is going on? Why is it bloody freezing in here?”

Roger flexes out his foot warmth circling the bruise, “help.”

Freddie investigates the room before magic sparks in his hand and flies into the room before it illuminates everything in brilliant gold. Roger just makes out a whisper of a fleeting shadow. He feels a stab of jealousy that Freddie can just _do that. _His eyes widen as he realizes what had just happened.

“Birdie, look at me.”

John’s fingers are digging into his jeans. Brian is pressed further back into the corner. His arm is still folded into his stomach and his eyes are tightly closed. Roger crawls over to him, relieved that the temperature is back to normal, even if there’s a distinct after taste of magic. Freddie’s spell was likely too strong.

At least the thing is gone.

He hears Brian wheezing and hiccupping. Roger reaches out to touch him before John snatches his wrist.

“Birdie, may I touch you?”

The question earns him a sliver of hazel. Brian’s eyes are glassy and unfocused, but he seems to narrow on Roger’s eyes. Slowly the uninjured arm reaches out towards him. Roger takes it and laces their fingers together. He feels Brian flex his fingers into the back his hand. It hurts but Roger keeps quiet.

“May I?” John asks quietly.

Brian nods and John rests his hand on his knee, stroking with his thumb. Freddie joins them last.

“Brimi?”

Again, Brian gives a nod and Freddie’s hand goes to his hair, petting lightly before just settling in the sweaty mop. Roger lets out his own sigh when Brian’s breath falls from its wheezing tempo.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I am.”

Roger’s head whips up to Brian’s face. The hazel eyes are focusing, but he can’t tell how Brian is feeling. There is a fine tremble in his hand, but the fingers are easing up. He sees were Brian’s blunt nails have left tiny crescents.

“How about a bath, hm?” Freddie crouches.

Brian blinks, “yes.”

Roger swallows and shudders. Something is wrong. Brian drops his hand to grab Freddie’s. John shifts away. It is always amusing to watch Brian’s limbs straighten out, but normally the movement is full of awkward grace. This is simply stiff.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Freddie calls, “come on then, Birdie.”

Brian and Freddie shuffle out of the room. With them gone, Roger allows himself to drop back.

“What in the bloody hell was that?”

John shakes his head, “I don’t know. It kept changing its feeling.”

“Why is it in our home? How’d it get in our home?”

“I don’t know. It has to be stronger than our sigils.”

Roger shakes his head. There can’t be much that is stronger than what protection they and their family have left.

“Freak occurrence?” Roger doesn’t believe it as the words fall from his lips.

Three is a pattern.

“It probably broke loose from a summoning circle, and went to the easiest target?”

Roger stares at John. The bassist is worrying at his nails scanning around the room. He runs through everything it could have been, the most likely is a poltergeist or demon. The suggestion leaves his lips before he could think it fully.

“Poltergeist? John tilts his head, “nasty, but it’d make sense that it could get through the seals if it was angry enough.”

“Think it could be one?”

“Brian gives off enough negative energy…” John shrugs.

“You think it’s just that?”

John bites his lip.

Roger turns around when he hears the shower stop. Freddie is standing against the doorway. He has his lips pursed.

“Freddie? Have you seen anything?”

Freddie shakes his head, “no.”

“Have you tried?” John stands up, “with actual scrying not only your sight?”

“No, I can’t. When I try it’s blurry.”

Roger coughs, “blurry? Fred?”

“I can’t explain it, non-witches are always blurrier.”

That makes him feel slightly better. Brian isn’t a true non-witch but he hasn’t awakened. Whatever was in their room must be random poltergeist because Brian attracts those things. Roger shakes his head the reasoning sounds weak.

Brian pauses at the doorway. The color is back on his cheeks and he seems exhausted but more stable. Roger lets out a tiny breath of air.

“I don’t think I can go back in there yet,” he says softly.

Roger checks the time, it’s one a.m. He hadn’t been sleeping which mean it isn’t a loss for him. John looks deeply unhappy, rubbing at his eyes and Freddie yawning.

“Couch,” Roger says, “John do you want to grab the blankets? Freddie set up the record player?”

Brian looks between, “I can – you can go back to – I’ll be fine.”

Roger jumps up and drapes across Brian’s side, “nope. Cuddle couch hour.”

He drags Brian out to the living room. Freddie is playing a slow jazz album. Roger can’t identify the artist, but it is soothing. Roger jumps back on the couch and Freddie mirrors him and they tangle their legs together. Brian steps forward and then steps back.

“Come on.”

Brian crawls on top of Freddie. He bites his lip looking back at Roger as though he will yell at him. Freddie presses down on Brian’s back, almost forcing him down like one of their cats. Delilah and Franky watch moodily from the chair.

_Must you be so noisy? _Frankie thinks.

_Hush you. Why did you tell me about the spirit?_

_Spirit? There wasn’t any._

Roger stares at his familiar. She deems the conversation over and yawns before falling back asleep.

John wanders in, arms piled high with blankets. He fans them out over the couch and then crawls on top of Roger. The couch creaks once before going silent. Roger closes his eyes.

He wakes up when the record starts to skip. John is already on his feet pulling the needle away before it could ruin the record. Roger scoots towards the back of the couch. His legs are asleep from where they are tangled with Freddie’s and Brian’s on top of them.

John comes back and noses at his cheek, “hello.”

“Hello there.”

John cups his face and kisses him gently.

“I’m going to give Brian a pendant,” John kisses under his eye, “just in case.”

Roger hums and drops his head against John’s shoulder, “just in case, eh?”

The thought makes Roger sleep easier.

* * *

Brain yawns and wipes the tears from the corner of his eyes. He picks up his coffee mug and sips at it greedily. The warm beverage lures him to sleep rather than waking him up. He leans his head down over the counter, half asleep already.

That is the problem with getting full nights sleeps in between strong bouts of insomnia. Brian remembers how much he likes to sleep, and then it takes him until midday to be fully awake. He would be in bed except it is his breakfast weekend, which he will get to when he is reasonably certain he won’t fall asleep and burn down the house.

“Morning, Birdie.”

Brian smiles fondly at the nickname. John’s hair is falling loose from the braid Freddie demanded he wear last night. His brown hair tickles his shoulder. Soft morning light highlights John’s gray eyes.

“Good morning.”

John wraps around him in a quick hug, only for Brian to realize the bastard was stealing his coffee.

“There’s an entire pot, just over there. Look mugs next to it and everything.”

“Guess you can make yourself a cup,” John grins before sipping at his drink.

Brian pouts, because getting up and pouring himself a new mug sounds like a lot of effort. John hands his back once he makes grabby hands but then takes it right back.

“Are we having only coffee for breakfast?”

He shakes his head, “was waiting until I was awake.”

“It’d be lunch then,” John quips, “I suppose I’ll help.”

“How gracious, you’re just going to make yourself cheese on toast.”

John looks over the rim of the coffee mug, _so? _Brian snorts and pushes himself up from the counter and rummages around pulling out tomatoes and mushrooms and eggs. He could make an omelet; Roger can’t complain much about that. Then he pulls out the cheese offering it to John for his meals.

“Thanks.”

They work silently for some minutes, Brian carefully working with the egg to keep it from breaking. John leans around him while he waits for his toast to broil.

“Very nice,” John says, “could hang it in a museum.”

Brian is very good at cooking eggs. His mother had taught him the basics of cooking and living like they had taught him how to make meals on a budget. He really isn’t used to going out as he has with Freddie, Roger, and John. They don’t seem to have a care about how much money they’re spending, especially when they have food at home.

Some of it nearly spoils before they get to it.

“Birdie?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about dinner.”

“Weren’t we going to grab take-out?”

“Again?” Brian frowns, “why not have a proper home-cooked dinner?”

“Can you?”

“Near enough.”

John hums before he hurries off. Brian sighs and pulls his toast from the broiler before it could burn. The omelet finishes and he drops it onto the serving plate and begins the second one. He swirls the egg around the pan and sets it back on the heat when John reappears.

Brian frowns when he sees that John has set a box on the table. It looks like a ring box.

“What?”

“Open it.”

He does so, wary of any pranks. John is the one he trusts the most, but he is hard to read. The lid clicks open and a smooth green stone rests on the velvet. Brian picks it up and rolls it around his palm, it is shaped like a leaf and is surprisingly warm.

“What?”

“Roger gave you one,” John shrugs.

Brian tilts his head. John reaches up to rub at his shoulder under his shirt. It tugs the fabric down and reveals a smooth yellow stone in the shape of a sun. Next to it is a very familiar rose pendant. He is not sure why, but he ends up blushing both at the thought of sharing jewelry with John and Roger gifting him with something that he’s also given John.

John helps him unclasp the necklace and slide the leaf down so that his grandmother’s pendant between them. Brian thumbs the leaf; he feels the smooth ridges that form the veins.

“Thank you.”

John stares at it with a slight blush to his cheeks. Brian coughs and turns his attention back to the omelet which is sticking. He scrapes it off and manages to salvage some of it and slides it onto the plate. Behind him, John pulls out the stool at the counter and picks up his plate of cheese toast.

“I hope Rog and Fred show up before these get cold.”

Roger wanders into the kitchen. He is rubbing his eyes while wearing one of Brian’s jumpers, the sleeves are too long. Brian grins and then the angelic image is broken when Roger scowls before shuffling over to the coffee. He nearly warns him about the temperature before he realizes that the pot had been off the heater.

Brian begins the third omelet gesturing towards the plate. Roger unwraps the bread and sticks it into the toaster before he unplugs the broiler. As Roger drinks his coffee his mood perks up. He pulls out a plate and fork before flicking the food onto his plate.

“Morning Roger,” Brian says once he is sure he won’t just be yelled at.

“Good morning, Brimi,” Roger shovels the food into his mouth, “s’good. Hot.”

Brian nods as he adds a few more chunks of tomatoes into the egg.

“Hey, get your own.”

He laughs as he hears a light smack. Brian turns around just in time to see Roger reaching for his fork as he is held back by John. The food lays decimated on the table; he swipes away the loose pieces of eggs before dropping the now finished omelet onto the plate.

“Where’s Fred?”

“Asleep,” Roger finally gets his fork back.

“Is he going to be up in time for breakfast?”

“When my lovely songbird is cooking?” Freddie sings, “always.”

Brian shuffles awkwardly. Freddie smiles at him before grabbing his own plate and breakfast. John stands at gets his own, apparently happy to let Roger have his breakfast.

“Let me,” John says softly, “go sit down.”

“John…”

“I had my breakfast –”

“And part of mine!”

“So, let me finish this up for you.”

He rolls his foot and rests his weight on one leg, “if you don’t mind?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did,” John breaks an egg with ease into the pan.

A hand wraps around his wrist and he is dragged over to the counter by Freddie. The singer gestures to John’s abandoned seat which Brian takes awkwardly. Roger has already finished off his food and is eyeing Freddie’s, who turns away holding his plate.

“Are you starved?” Brian asks.

Roger drapes around him dramatically, almost falling from the stool. He would if Brian moves away.

“For affection.”

“Hush you.”

Brian swallows and plays with the fork John handed him. He knows the tips of his ears are red. He is in so much trouble and he is starting to think the others might be figuring out his feelings.

* * *

The Red Special sounds as she always does. It is their first real performance as Queen, and Brian half expected something to sound different. Roger is drumming in the air warming up his wrists and soft singing from the bass as John plucks it. Freddie is strutting in front of the door of their “dressing room,” he is flicking his hands out, his bracelets clicking.

Brian plays a series of disjointed notes when Freddie shouts in one of his warmups. John looks up from where he is fiddling with the tuners. Not that it’s out of tune but John seems to think it is – now it's flat. He raises his eyebrow as John brings it back into tune. It feels like they’ve never played a show before. He knows that John has the least experience, only playing school shows but the rest of them have performed gigs before.

One of Roger’s drumsticks clatters on the ground as it flies out of his hand. Brian turns back to Roger whose eyes are wide in shock, his hand positioned in mid grasp. Freddie bends down to pick it up and twirls it. He laughs, surprising John who also chuckles. Roger looks down at his hand, still not entirely sure what’s happened. This sends Freddie off twirling the stick in dramatic fashion and conducting an unhearable orchestra.

Brian doubles over into John, gripping his shoulder in support as Freddie jumps up onto the table.

“Give me my stick before you break it!” Roger jumps up.

Freddie is too high for him to grab it, which makes his flailing about funnier. John grabs onto his shoulder and their guitars bump together. Brian pulls back but John keeps him close and uses his other hand to buffer the edges of their guitars. Roger jumps up again but this time when he lands Freddie puts his hand out in front of Roger’s face.

John hiccups a laugh. Brian looks up and sees John flushing slightly and the noise repeats. He blinks and grins, laughing at John’s embarrassment which then causes him to snort. Roger looks over to him, Freddie’s hand still tilting his head back.

“What are you laughing at?” Roger pouts.

Freddie removes his hand and then pokes Roger in the cheek with the end of his drumstick. He reaches up and takes it lightly from Freddie’s hand. John pulls himself together with surprising ease.

“You.”

Roger crosses his arms and looks the picture of perfect indignity. Freddie hops off the table using Brian’s offered hand. He leans against Brian briefly as Roger and John bump their noses together. The rapid knock on the door breaks them apart.

“Queen – seriously that’s the name? Queen on in five!”

Brian takes in a deep breath. Freddie rubs up and down his back for a moment before clapping him on it.

“Let’s go, darlings.”

The crowd’s initial reaction is what Brian expected. Four men walking out with flare sleeves and heavy make-up. There are uncomfortable shuffles and murmurs filling the crowd. Brian sends Freddie a look, biting at his bottom lip. Freddie meets his look with a cheeky wink.

“Hello, all you beautiful people.”

Brian looks up when he hears the yell from the crowd. He doesn’t know what they said but Freddie’s lips curl. Roger rattles the drums and he shakes his head. Their music will speak for itself, once they play. He hears the nervous picking from John. Brian glances back to Roger and nods.

The quick clicking of drumsticks counts them in. Brian strikes down on the strings and John’s bass twists them together. Then Freddie’s voice comes in. It is in key, which isn’t a problem, but he is always concerned. He looks out over the crowd which is slowly starting to move with their music. There isn’t an overwhelming hostility in the crowd any longer.

By their third song, people are jumping around and attempting to sing along. Freddie spins and struts around the stage, bending and stretching. Poor John looks like he is struggling as Freddie presses up against him. Roger’s drumming only gets more intense, Brian worries about his knuckles catching on the rim and opening.

Brian could swear that the lights are spheres surrounding them. Freddie seems like the only hair out of places are the ones that he wants to be. Roger doesn’t look like’s exhausted at all.

Magic is happening. He feels it in the swell of the crowd, through the vibrations of the floor. Brian can’t believe this is happening. He steps forward lifting the Red Special’s neck and resting her against his body as he sustains a note. People are smiling. They’re smiling _at _him. _Because _of him.

When he looks back, he sees Roger’s arms flying across the drums, his expression focused but relaxed like he is lost in his own little world. John is starting to do that little bounce whenever they practice alone. Freddie is pulling the crowd into a trance. Brian backs up as he finishes his solo. Freddie quickly taking his place shaking a tambourine he got from… somewhere.

He releases a breathy laugh when he watches John skip away from where it comes down on the stage when Freddie gets bored of using it.

Their set ends quickly. Brian blinks as the last note can’t be held any longer. How had they gone through all their songs so fast? He relaxes his grasp on the Red Special.

Freddie makes an extravagant bow. Roger trips as he extracts himself from the drums, steadying himself by leaning against Brian. He leans into the touch, he is exhausted but he can’t feel any of it with the energy thrumming in his veins, with how Roger’s warm hand is on his shoulder. John’s bow is slight, and he quickly vacates the stage.

He leaves next, the crowd’s yelling starting to get overwhelming and he has made it this far without making an ass of himself. Roger a step behind him, holding his drumsticks above his head. Freddie makes one more circuit on the stage, winking and blowing kisses towards the crowd.

Brian _swears _he is glowing.

“Okay, Birdie?” Roger asks softly.

“The lights,” Brian replies, “some were in my eyes.”

“Ah,” Roger hums.

John already has four bottles open and his holding them out. Freddie wraps around him briefly before taking his drink. They knock the necks of the bottles together.

“To the greatest band on Earth,” Freddie says, “you all were incredible.”

“And you, too, Freddie,” John says quietly.

“Oh, I know that.”

Brian nudges against Freddie, tipping the singer off him. Freddie pouts. Roger quickly looks around, but they’re protected by the curtain of the stage, and then kisses the pout from Freddie’s face.

“What a celebration,” Roger wiggles his eyebrows.

Freddie’s eyes darken and John straightens. Brian takes a long drag from his bottle. They’re together, it only makes sense that they’d want to go home and fuck before going to bed. He rubs at his stomach. Energy buzzes down his spine. Maybe he should find someone for the night?

He hasn’t slept with anyone despite there being opportunities to. Brian rolls his shoulders before rubbing his neck, maybe that’s why his attraction to them is so strong? A good shag should set him right. That is if _he _is a good shag.

“We’re going to head off soon, Brimi.”

His head snaps up, apparently, he had missed the rest of the conversation. It is good news for his heart and a setback for proving to him that he isn’t insane.

“Oh, right. I might stay a bit.”

Something flashes across Freddie’s face, “come back with us, scrabble and beer, c’mon Birdie.”

Brian narrows his eyes at the strain in Freddie’s voice. What?

“No, don’t let me keep you,” Brian shrugs, “I feel like being out tonight.”

Freddie pouts, “but it’s our _first _show, we should be celebrating together.”

“Let’s have a few drinks first and then we’ll see, hm? John offers.

He doesn’t get it. They were so ready to leave and now that Brian wants to stay, he can’t be alone?

“You don’t want to, I’ll be fine.”  
“But, Freddie is right, we should have a few drinks more together,” Roger raises on hand, “and we said in a bit, not right now.”

That is true. Brian still must force his lips to move into a smile. He gets it. Truly, ever since his string of sleepless nights and last bad hallucination he can barely cough without one of them getting into his space. A few hours are all he is asking. They don’t want to leave him alone.

_Who knows what could happen to poor little Brian? _Brian mimics his mother in his head.

Then mentally apologizes to her.

The door opens and a man is waving them out into the crowd. Brian moves quickly towards them and he’s dragged out towards the main room of the bar. Freddie calls after him when Brian turns his head he sees that the others have followed after him. He is pushed to the side and a waitress comes with four mugs of a dark lager.

“Good show, lads,” Brian remembers this man as the owner, “bloody brilliant, actually. Have a round or two on the house!”

Brian takes one of the mugs and clinks it against the others before downing half of it in one go. The buzz starts slowly, it always does, but by the time he reaches the bottom of the glass, he is fully tipsy. His bandmates are only a quarter of the way through theirs. Roger is frowning heavily.

“You alright, Bri?”

“Course,” he nods and makes himself dizzy, “but I’d like it more if you treated me like an adult and not an invalid.”

“What?”

“That’s why you won’t leave me alone.’’

Roger’s face is open, hurt spikes through the blue eyes as he puts distance between them.

Brian winces and stands, “I’ll get our second round.”

John watches him go. Brian tries not to think about the gaze drifting downwards. Sometimes he thinks that they look at him like this. It wouldn’t make sense, though, the three of them, all exceptionally beautiful, have each other. And well, he looks good when he finds time to sleep and eat properly, but not breathtaking.

He leans against the bar, dodging the suspicious wet spots and keeping his elbows in as drunk patrons slowly become more common. Brian manages to catch the attention of the bartender. Then he is quickly pushed away but a man loudly demanding another shot of whiskey. Brian swallows and tucks his elbows in further and looks around the room.

He sees Roger’s eyes staring directly at him, and he manages to keep the scowl from his lips. All he is getting is drinks, _nothing _is going to happen to him. Even he can manage this without breaking down. Brian skips his eyes away, catching another pair of bright eyes. Instead, they’re almost golden in the light. White-blonde hair is styled in soft curls, she sends him a wink.

Brian smiles awkwardly, their drinks get shoved into his arms. When he looks up the woman is gone, as though she hadn’t been there at all. God, he hopes she vanished in the crowd and didn’t just _vanish. _He is having a good night. No need to prove his bandmates right.

John welcomes him back, taking the mugs so that he doesn’t cause all of them to spill over. Some beer spilled onto his shirt, and Brian pulls it away from his skin with a grimace. It is going to be a pain to get out. Freddie picks up a mug and holds it high in the sky.

“Another toast!” Freddie calls, standing up on the bench.

Brian holds up his hands in case Freddie topples over and then sets them down, wrapping them around the mug instead. John sends him a wan smile and then rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“To Queen! The best damn band the world will ever see,” Freddie yells.

He looks down at them, his gaze softer and drunken flush high on his cheeks, “and to us. The best damn people we’ll ever meet.”

Brian blinks away the mistiness from his eyes and clinks his mug together with the rest of them. He drinks it as fast as he did the first one and lets him fall into the flood of alcohol haze.

* * *

Brian rolls off the couch when he hears the phone start to ring. He doesn’t remember much of last night, mostly he is just relieved that managed to make it to a house. Their house, because his face is currently planted on Freddie’s fancy rug. Right. The phone is ringing.

His head throbs as he pushes himself up and stumbles to the phone. The others likely haven’t heard it yet, and he has vague memories of them – yep those are Roger’s pants on the couch. Brian swallows down the negative feeling. Is it jealousy?

“Hello?” He greets, “Brian May speaking.”

“Brian!”

Brian leans against the wall. His head is throbbing, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. Not the ideal state to speak to his mother in.

“Just who I was calling after,” his mother’s voice is pitched high in fake excitement.

She must have her church friends over for Sunday brunch.

“Hi, mum,” he says softly, “sorry I haven’t been in touch. How’s dad?”

“Your father is still cleaning up from yesterday’s football match,” Ruth says, “how have you been?”

“Good, really well.”

Ruth hums, “and your studies – he’s studying astrophysics you know. Goes right over my head but he’s so clever.”

Brian bites the inside of his cheek. As much as he knows his mother _is _proud of him and that she’s happy about his success, he has always hated it when she uses him as a bragging chip. He isn’t in the mood for it today.

“How is that, uh, band of yours?” Her voice is softer but no less interested.

“We had our first gig with the new setlist,” Brian says, “it went well. People seemed to really enjoy it.”

“You know he built his guitar,” his mother says as an aside, “and you’re getting along with your new flatmates?”

“It’s wonderful. They keep the living room clean.”

“And you aren’t letting them distract you from the studies? Elisa’s son tried the rock and roll lifestyle, no one knows where he is. Hasn’t spoken with anyone in months.”

Brian bites his tongue.

“I think maybe you should tone down the band, I can’t imagine you’re able to work on your homework. It sounds like you practice music a lot.”

“I enjoy the band,” Brian says, “helps me relax.”

“Yes, well, you can’t be stressed,” his mother says softly.

They both know what she really means. Brian sighs.

“I know we have a shot, the way we played last night. It really showed me that I was right.”

He hears the sharp intake of multiple breaths. So, the other women had been listening in? Brian feels bad that he’s happy about that.

“Brian? Dearest, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m not going to stop playing with them.”

“Think about your future, dear.”

“I am. I’m not – I haven’t chosen anything, but I do love this band.”

His mother sighs, “so long as you don’t start failing or doing any of those other dreadful things rock n’ rollers do, I suppose it’s not a problem.”

“I’m so _thrilled _to have your permission,” Brian forces out, “it’s been lovely, but I need to go mum.”

“Well, call sometime this week, your father would love to talk to you.”

Brian tightens his hand on the phone before forcing a smile, despite no one being able to see it, “of course. Love you.”

“Love you. Take care.”

He hangs the phone up harder than he normally would. Brian presses his back against the wall and forces air into his lungs. He has never been so short with his mother before; he can’t imagine what his father is going to say. It doesn’t matter, he was going to be lectured about the band again.

Brian picks up the scattered clothing and tosses it into the basket as he passes it when he enters the bathroom. He hears loud sniffling down the hall. The water heats up quickly, which he is grateful for as he sheds his clothes and steps right in it. It stings as it hit his torso. His curls are going to suffer from it, but the steam is already clearing his headache somewhat.

The shower lasts twice as long as he would usually dare, running the water until it is lukewarm. He steps out and quickly runs the towel on his body, its scratchy surface causes his overheated skin to burn. For a moment, Brian looks at the straightener but shrugs it off. They aren’t going anywhere, and he is not in the mood to smell burned hair with how his stomach is churning.

When he opens the door, bacon and eggs hit his nose and he is forced over the toilet. Coughing and spitting whatever food he doesn’t remember eating up. Someone knocks on the side of the door. He turns his head.

John is leaning against the doorframe with one hip cocked, “alright?”

“Hungover,” Brian grumbles.

“Oh, good,” John hums, “Freddie got us a gig tonight.”

“On Sunday evening?”

“The band dropped out, and Freddie is certain this is a good idea.”

Brian shrugs and reaches up for Roger’s mouthwash. He gags at the burn for a moment before he tastes the soothing mint. John looks away as he spits into the sink.

“I take it no breakfast?”

“Toast, maybe.”

John perks up, “cheese toast?”

Brian shakes his head, “not quite that fancy.”

He takes John’s offered hand and they hurry to the kitchen. Roger has sunglasses on and is pressing his forehead to a glass of water. Freddie is swaying his hips as he stirs eggs. The smell nearly sends Brian back to the restroom, but he can tough it out. John pats him on the lower back, and Brian ignores the want for the hand to go lower.

“Brian,” Roger whines, “I’m dying.”

Brian hums, “I don’t think so.”

Roger’s whines louder and then he groans quietly and forces the glass of water to his head harder. John grabs his prepared cheese toast and sits next to Roger. Brian steps in to unwrap the bread and then decides that he doesn’t want to wait to heat it up, not trusting his stomach and the smell of the food.

Instead he lathers on an obscene amount of honey and jam and makes a sandwich. Freddie hums and leans over to grab a clean plate.

“Good morning, Birdie.”

“Morning,” Brian mumbles.

Crumbs drop onto his shirt and he flushes as he sweeps it clean.

“You had a call?”

“My mom,” Brian answers, “catching up.”

Freddie nods, “lovely. Did John tell you we picked up a second gig?”

“Yeah.”

“You alright with it?”

Brian shrugs, “I think it’ll be fun. The more the better, right?”

Roger makes a noise of agreement before going back to pressing his glass to his head.

“It’ll work better if you drink it,” John says.

“No, because then it won’t be cold on my head.”

John laughs, “what if we got you a second glass?”

Roger’s eyes peak open before closing them tightly again, “no.”

“What time is the gig?”

“About seven this evening.”

Brian nods and finishes up his sandwich, “then I’d like to get some homework finished.”

Freddie rolls his eyes and then pouts.

“Sorry, Fred.”

“You’re always working, we need to prepare.”

He grimaces and pushes the conversation with his mom to the back of his mind. There is still time for him to make his decision before he is forced to choose. John raises an eyebrow and Brian shakes his head. Roger opens his eyes again with a frown.

“Bri?”

“I have to,” Brian sighs, “but I can work in the living room.”

Roger smiles and goes back to trying to ease his hangover. John pats him on the back.

* * *

Brian shakes out his hands as he paces in the alleyway. Once the gig finished, he sprinted out of the bar. The pendant on his necklace is scorching hot. They had such a good show, but two songs from the finale he had felt his grandmother’s pendant start to heat up, then his hands slipped when he saw a shadow move from one side of the bar to the other. He lets out long sigh and presses his palms to his eyes.

There’s nothing out here.

His throat tightens and he presses his palms tighter to his eyes. He peels his hands off and looks around the alleyway. The shadow hasn’t followed him out. It’s gone, he has managed to ward off the hallucination. Brian sighs and the air feels like it’s been punched out of him. He steps away from the wall and shakes out his hands again as he starts to pace.

No. There’s nothing out there.

Brian yelps when he turns around and sees a figure. Freddie takes a step towards him.

“Sorry, Birdie,” Freddie says softly, “didn’t mean to startle you.”  
He waves it off, “it’s fine.”

“How are you?”

“I got a little overwhelmed.”

Freddie hums, “the crowd got very into it.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Brian says.

“Because there’s never been anything like us,” Freddie laughs.

Brian rolls his eyes at the joke.

“I meant to give this to you yesterday,” Freddie pulls something from his pocket.

He holds out his hand and Freddie dumps a tiny object into his hand. Brian drops his second hand to make sure that he doesn’t end up letting it fall to the ground. Freddie rolls on his feet as Brian brings the object to his eye level.

“A pendant?”

It’s the tiny sun he has seen around Roger’s and John’s necks. Freddie takes it from him gingerly and Brian turns around. He feels Freddie unclasp his necklace and shivers at the chill. The pendant drops down next to Roger’s rose. Once the necklace is closed the chill vanishes. He shakes his head.

“How lovely,” Freddie grins.

Brian touches the sun, “are there any reasons for these?”

Freddie reaches up and strokes his grandmother’s pendant, Brian shudders.

“Consider them good luck.”

Brian covers Freddie’s hand with his, “I need luck?”

“Everyone does.”

“Should we go back in?”

“John and Roger have already gone home. I was sent to let you know. Unless you want to come with?”

Brian looks back at the bar and feels a spark of electricity run down his spine. He thinks about the shadow dodging through the rafters. A part of him wants to ask Freddie if he had seen anything but then shakes his head. If Freddie hadn’t, then it just lets him know that Brian is seeing things.

“I’d like to head back with you?”

“Of course.”

He knows it makes his complaint last night seem silly, but Brian had meant it. He is an adult, just one that happens to have hallucinations.

“Scrabble?”

“Will you pout when you lose?”

Freddie gasps and clutches his chest, “I would never – ”

Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Lose that is.”

* * *

Brian gasps when someone lands next to him. He looks over to see Roger grinning wildly at him. Before Brian can ask him what he is on about, Freddie lands next to him. Roger drags him into a hug and Freddie climbs on top of him, kneeling on his knee in the process.

“You should tell him,” John calls, “before you suffocate him.”

He peaks over Freddie’s messy hair to see John smiling at him. They’re all still in their nightclothes, so Brian knows they haven’t gone anywhere.

“What’s happened?”  
“Nothing bad,” Roger says.

“Oh yes, only we’ve gotten a call.”

Brian raises his eyebrow at Freddie’s dancing around. It isn’t like him, which means that it must be something very good. He looks at each of his bandmates but he can’t imagine what it is.

“We’ve got a call,” Freddie repeats.

“So you’ve said.”

Roger pushes Freddie, “get on with it!”

“Well it so happened to be a producer who heard us play last night, brought it up, and well, Trident Records wants to sign us.”

Brian blinks.

“An actual record company?” Brian whispers.

He can’t imagine it. Someone wants to actually – they’re actually going to – he lets out a short laugh.

“Yes,” Freddie breathes.

Roger gets pulled into a kiss by John. Brian has to swallow his tongue to stop himself from kissing Freddie. It almost looks like Freddie is trying to stop himself. Huh. That’s interesting.

Freddie lets out a loud whoop. Brian leans back to protect his ears.

“We’ve done it,” John says.

Roger stretches out, “of course we have!”

“We’ll meet them this Wednesday, at lunch, to talk contracts.”

Brian can’t stop himself from tackling Freddie to the bed as he laughs. He can’t believe it. Someone wants to _sign _them. They’re going to be rock stars! All they needed was for someone to get them the platform, their music speaks for itself.

He feels lips against his cheek, but he can’t tell who it is as Roger wiggles his way in between Brian and Freddie and John drops onto his back.

There is no one else he would rather go on this journey with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things! Excitement! Intrigue! Fluff!  
An obscenely long scene of Brian making an omelet, which is what everyone wanted in this chapter right? :sweat drop:  
As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr.


	4. What secrets does the heart keep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's barely Thursday where I'm at, but as usual I'm excited.  
I think you'll like this one.  
Enjoy!

Brian swings his last bag over his shoulders. They already ache with the weight, and he still must carry his guitar case. He sighs and wobbles to the door. John follows him and holds his guitar case carefully.

“Are you sure you have to go?” Roger whines from the living room.

“I haven’t seen my parents in months,” Brian replies, “and I finally have the time to see them. Recording an album takes up a lot of time, who knew?”

They finished a week ago. Queen will soon have an album that people can _buy._

Roger huffs. John smiles wryly as Brian once more sets his bags down. They are acting like he is moving away for years rather than the two weeks he won’t be with them. Hell, he is going to be in the same city. Not that Brian is thrilled with being away from them, if only because he has gotten used to shaping his days around them.

He does want to see his parents though, once they got into the swing of the semester, he hadn’t been able to find a weekend to visit _at all. _As much as he wants to avoid his mother scolding him about not visiting and the lecture he faces, he is excited.

“Rog,” he calls.

A blond head pops up over the back of the couch. He is pouting already, and he is quickly joined by Freddie.

“Why can’t you just go over on Christmas day?” Freddie says.

“I could,” Brian agrees, “but that doesn’t give me much time to be with my other family.”

Roger grins but then starts pouting again. “but Briiii-an we’ll have so much fun here.”

Brian shrugs, “I guess I’ll have to miss out.”

Freddie sighs dramatically before standing up and walking over to him. Brian steps back with the force of the hug. He feels warmth at the points of greatest contact. Brian hugs him tightly. The hug is long, and he shivers when Freddie pulls away.

“Don’t forget about us, Birdie.”

“How could I?”

Roger manages to pull himself from the couch and hugs Brian as well. He feels Roger clap him on the back twice and kiss him on the cheek before he breaks the hug. Brian’s blush deepens as he resists the urge to touch where Roger’s lips had been.

“Make these weeks go by fast,” Roger demands.

Brian rolls his eyes, “I can’t make time go faster.”

Roger shrugs, “you’re smart. Try.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Feeling brave he gives two quick pecks on each Roger’s and Freddie’s cheeks before stepping back and clearing his throat.

“Well, I’ll see you.”

Roger smirks. Freddie bats his eyes and blows a kiss. Brian clears his throat and turns back to the hallway where John is holding one of his bags.

“I’ll help you to the cab.”

Right. They had forced him to order a cab like he couldn’t handle navigating the tube. Brian grits his teeth. It wasn’t an argument he was going to win, because clearly, they don’t think that he can handle anything. John holds open the door and Brian grabs his duffle bag and guitar case. The cabbie is leaning against his taxi holding a cigarette.

Brian hurries down the steps and towards the trunk. He tosses the duffle bag and John comes beside him to drop his knapsack into the trunk. John reaches up and shuts the door. The cabbie has his back turned towards them as they hug briefly.

“Don’t I get a farewell kiss?” John bats his eyes exaggeratedly.

He leans forward and places a wet kiss on John’s cheek. John giggles and Brian swallows trying to keep his cheeks from becoming bright red.

“Just call once or twice,” John says softly, “to spare me the misery.”

“I can’t imagine what it’d be like if I was staying away for the month.”

“We’d come to visit.”

Brian grimaces.

“You can’t blame us for missing you. We haven’t been apart much since we’ve met.”

That is fair. He offers a tired smile. They aren’t stopping him from going at least. Things will probably be better tomorrow for all of them. Space is something that they need. More importantly, Brian is ready to prove to his parents that he _can _live on his own. The past few weeks he has slept through the entire night and he hasn’t had a hallucination since the night at the bar. He looks healthy, and for the first time in a long time he doesn’t have dark circles under his eyes.

“Well, I should get going before traffic gets horrid,” Brian shuffles awkwardly.

John steps away and nods, “we’ll see you soon.”

Brian shuffles again, “right.”

They shake hands once more which feels entirely too awkward. The cabbie is fully situated in the driver’s seat now and Brian knows that it’s his cue to leave. He offers a half-wave to John who moves back on the curb and then a full-wave to Roger and Freddie who are leaning out of the door looking distinctly unhappy. They do wave to him.

Brian pats his pocket to make sure that he still has the fare for the taxi that they forced on him before sliding his guitar case in the backseat and himself after that. The taxi smells like burnt herbs and cigarette smoke. He rolls down his window, despite the sky looking as though it’s going to rain or snow at any moment and leans out.

He watches his bandmates grow smaller before they vanish from his sight as the cab turns the corner. Brian shivers and debates rolling the window back up, but he had just rolled it down and he has a feeling the cabbie wouldn’t be too happy with him playing with the windows. The smell is worse than the draft, so he keeps it down and prays that the snow starts after he gets to his parent’s house.

He spots a bird circling overhead, and frowns. Its strange to see a kestrel in winter and in town.

* * *

The house is too silent. Brian shifts and sighs when he hears his bed creak, but then everything quiets again. His parents turn in at ten exactly every night, and both sleep through the night. They don’t play records enough to forget to turn off the player and their TV always cuts out about eight. Brian rolls over and stars at the lamp on his bedside table. Blue paint has started to flake from the white wood, he remembers his grandmother buying the lamp and telling him that he should decorate it.

His parents had said it was tacky when he brought it home and asked if he wanted a proper table lamp. Brian had denied them and kept this one ever since. Maybe he should take it back with him and repaint it? Freddie would love it; he might even know how to keep it from chipping in the future. Brian lets out a low groan and digs his fingers into his scalp.

This was supposed to put some separation between them. Not only to give him a chance to step back from their overbearing presence but also for him to get a grip on his emotions. It doesn’t do him any good to fall for people who are already taken. Granted, they seem interested in him but is it for a bit of fun or something serious?

Brian gives up and slides out of bed. He pulls on one of his thickest jumpers and rummages around his bare closet for his old telescope. It is nothing fancy, in fact, he is pretty sure that he is getting a new one as a gift (courtesy of Roger and Freddie talking about it loudly before he entered the room and they quieted as they spotted him) but it is well-loved. He strokes the fading sharpie that he wrote his name in. The B and R are capitalized in his messy child’s handwriting, probably from when he was first learning to write. Brian smiles.

He deftly steps over Hunter, his father’s cocker spaniel, who lifts his head and follows Brian. They move quietly through the house, avoiding the creaky steps. Hunter’s tags jingle. Brian quickly slips on his clogs and grabs Hunter’s leash before stepping out into their backyard.

The night isn’t completely clear, but he can at least set up the telescope to look at the moon. He lets Hunter wander around their backyard while he gets everything set up. Brian sniffles once and shivers. It is colder than he thought it would be.

He kneels in the wet grass in order to use the telescope because of how small it is. The moon glows brightly in the view. Brian can make out the Man in the Moon, and he guides the telescope a little before he can spot Mars. Which means that somewhere between them is –

His chest starts to hurt. He frowns and rubs at his sternum. Hunter barks and growls. Brian looks to see what is causing the usually docile dog to cause such a ruckus. Standing only a few meters away is a fully formed shadow. Nails long and dropping to the ground. Brian closes his eyes and presses his palms to his temples. When he opens them, the shadow is gone.

Hunter isn’t any more relaxed he is sniffing around where the shadow had been. Brian shakes his head and turns back to the telescope. Something punches through his spine and through the front of him. He looks down and sees a dark clawed hand through his chest. For a moment it is bright red and then it is gone.

He doubles over and grips his shirt. There isn’t a hole. There isn’t anything, but it feels like his heart has been trodden with a heavy boot. Air stops just short of reaching his chest and he gasps trying to draw more into his lungs. Something prickles against his jaw, and his neck is wretched to the side, his spine popping with the force.

** _SoOn. _ **

The pressure vanishes. Brian pushes himself backward, knocking the telescope to the ground and causing Hunter to jump and run towards him. He realizes the dog is barking and he tries to hush him before he wakes his parents.

“Brian Harold May!” Harold’s booming voice echoes in the silent night.

Brian gasps and rubs at his face. It still feels like there are icicles poking at his jaw and his chest and neck are burning. He closes his eyes briefly and shoves everything down and finds his voice.

“What on _Earth _are you doing?”

“Sorry, dad,” Brian stands up, shaky voice and shaking legs, “Hunter was scratching at my door, so I thought I’d let him go outside, and I got distracted by my telescope, and I guess Hunter saw a cat and started barking which startled me.”

His smooths out. He picks up Hunter’s leash and his telescope and hurries towards the safety of the patio. Harold’s arms are crossed, and he has a heavy frown on his face.

“Brian,” Harold sighs, “what if you woke one of our neighbors with your noise?”

“Sorry, dad,” he repeats.

Harold claps him on the shoulder, “you should really be careful, don’t get distracted, son.”

Brian offers a chagrined smile, “I know, too much in the stars not enough in the moment.”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I wasn’t,” Brian says softer, “I think I’ll go back to bed.”

“Brian,” Harold hesitates.

“Yes?”

“How’s,” Harold clears his throat, “how’s that head thing of yours?”

Brian makes a face but then shrugs, “it’s fine. I actually haven’t had any issues with it since I went to Uni.”  
“That’s good, so the medication is working?”

Brian nods once, “I guess so.”  
“You are taking it?”  
_No. _“Of course, it seems to help. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Last you said, you hated it. Made you tired and you couldn’t follow a train of thought.”

Brian shakes his head, “I got used to it.”

Harold raises an eyebrow, “that’s good then. You should tell Ruthie, she has been worried about that with you.”

“Yeah, it just… isn’t easy to bring up with her.”

“She’s your mother, everything should be easy.”

He bites his tongue. His father had always let his mom make those decisions regarding what happens to him. Brian picks up Hunter before he gets too anxious and goes back out into the yard. Harold stands to the side and Brian steps into the house. He feels like he is being herded to his room as though he is grounded.

Brian sets Hunter down before trudging towards his room. Harold is only a step behind. For a moment, he thinks about slamming the door to complete the feeling of nostalgia.

_If you can’t ignore those things, then go to your room, Bri. _

He smiles, “night, dad.”

“Goodnight, son.”

Harold takes a few steps, “oh, we’re going to your aunt’s for the week. She wants to have a big celebration. Your cousin got accepted into an American university and she wants to celebrate.”

Brian’s smile tightens, “I thought we were staying in London?”

“That _was_ the plan,” Harold says.

He steps into his bedroom and drops down face first on his bed. Brian’s frustration is muffled by his duvet. Then he crawls up to the head of the bed and shoves his head into the pillow. Brian closes his eyes to try to force himself to sleep, as he does, he feels something in his chest. It feels like his heart is being squeezed again. Brian presses his hand to his chest and tries to force his lungs to move. They feel sticky and he coughs.

Brian forces himself to sit up putting his hands over his head but it doesn’t help the air won’t move. He shoves himself into a standing position, but each breath becomes shorter and shorter. His hands shake and he bites his cheek. It feels like his heart is slowly being twisted around. Brian gives up and stumbles out of his room again.

He is careful to keep from making too much noise. Hunter’s head rises but drops back down to the rug with a sigh. Brian grabs the phone and dials the number shakily. It rings twice before he hears the click that signals that it has been picked up.

“Hullo?” John's voice is slurred.

Brian debates for a moment hanging up the phone before John realizes who is on the other end. He inhales once.

“Hi, John,” he says quietly.

“Brian!” John nearly shouts, “sorry, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Brian whispers quietly, “I don’t know why. I just. I don’t know. I’m okay.”

John hums, “Brian?”

He lets out a long breath as he walks towards the chair his mother has by the phone. Brian twists his finger in the cord wondering how he can explain this. It has only been a couple of days, and his face heats up in shame. He starts to bite at his fingers.

“Talk to me, Birdie,” John says, “doesn’t have to be about why you called me.”

Brian nods. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Does he have anything to talk about?

“Have I told you how my dad got his dog?”

“I didn’t know your dad _had_ a dog.”

His lips quirk up, “he didn’t want one.”

* * *

Brian rubs his eyes and then bends down to splash cold water onto his face. He hears the screams of his younger cousins as they play with their new Christmas gifts. His aunt had sent him away to get rest before dinner. When he looks up, he sees how red his eyes have become and the dark circles making his skin almost ghost-like. He hasn’t been able to sleep at all.

His chest aches constantly and he worries that he might be catching pneumonia. Brian coughs to relieve some of the tension and then holds the towel to his face. He hears one of his uncles yell for the kids to quiet down.

Brian hangs up the towel, careful to step over Titan, his aunt’s large cat. He meows at him, and he crouches down to scratch under his chin. She purrs louder and squeaks when he stands up. Titan flickers her tail and her bell tinkles as she trots away towards the staircase. He makes his way towards his bedroom, rolling his eyes when he sees his cousin and his cousin’s girlfriend snogging on his bed. Brian rolls his eyes and knocks on the wall. The couple breaks apart.

“Brian! Sorry, mate, thought you were still downstairs,” Kenneth causally pulls his hands from underneath Sandra’s shirt, at least he thinks that was her name.

“I was, Aunt Lynn, grounded me,” he smiles.

“Being naughty, Bri? Take Lorraine’s new doll?”

He raises his hands, “you caught me.”

Kenneth laughs, “want the room?”

Brian shrugs, “I can borrow my parent’s room.”

“Nah, we’ll go be victims for Eloise’s new doctor set.”

He nods as Kenneth claps him on the back as he leaves. Brian stumbles forward and coughs again. Sandra sends him a glance of concern which he waves off. They walk down and Brian snorts as he hears Kenneth’s yell at Titan.

The cot creaks as lays on it. His feet stick out of the end of it and he pulls the blanket over him. Not for the first time does he miss the impossibly soft blankets John has hidden around the flat, they never fail to make him sleepy. Downstairs he hears children giggle and the low murmuring of conversation. The noise is different too, he misses Freddie singing and Roger’s constant drumming and commentary. It is a peaceful chaos back home.

Brian huffs and pulls the thin duvet over his head. There is no point in lying to himself: he misses the boys. He hasn’t managed to call them in the few days he has been at his aunt’s. What have they been doing? Have they written any new songs? Are they having their own Christmas dinner? He hopes one of their parents took pity on them and they’re not trying anything too fancy in the kitchen.

He sighs and curls up. It is more uncomfortable because part of his knees is hanging off the cot and he constantly feels like he is about to fall off. At least his feet aren’t cold?

After several minutes of failing to fall asleep he sits up, the clock tells him that he has been up here for over an hour by now, and it is a semi-convincing amount of time for a nap. He stretches and smooths out his wrinkled top and trousers, he’ll get called out about from one of the aunts, or even his mum. Brian shrugs. There is nothing to be done about it now.

When he steps back into the living room, he is swarmed by his cousins all demanding that he played with them. One stern look from their fathers’ send them back into the middle of the living room to resume their fun.

“Brian, my boy,” his uncle waves him over, “want to sit and have a chat?”

He wrinkles his nose at the offered cigar. His father holds out a plain cigarette. While he can tolerate Freddie, Roger, and occasionally John smoking (they go outside or open a window at least) he doesn’t do well with anyone else.

“No, thank you,” he waves off any more offers, “but I can talk.”

He coughs when Uncle Eddie blows smoke in his direction.

“Come on, Brian, every young lad smokes. I’m sure your bandmates do too.”

“What are you implying there?” Brian tightens his jaw. He doesn’t like that tone.

“Nothing, just that I’ve seen the pictures you sent your mum, bit of a group of fairies, ain’t it?”

He folds his hands into a fist.

“Calling yourselves Queen too,” Uncle Eddie scoffs, “can’t get a respectable job hanging with a crowd like that.”

“Well, frankly, it’s none of your business,” Brian says, his steady voice surprising him, “what they get up to in their private lives. All we care about is if you like our music.”

Harold clears his throat, “it’s just a uni thing, Eddie, let the boy have his fun.”

“And Ruthie agrees with this?”

“She likes that Brian has a social life.”

“Brian is standing right here,” he adds.

“Oh, so you don’t have to send him to the loony bin, again?”

Brian turns and walks away straight to the back of the house. His aunt has a greenhouse that no one enters but her. A few flowers stand firm against the cold weather and he sits in one of the wicker chairs. He wraps his arms around himself and shivers. Not that he had expected any better from his family, truthfully, he had expected worse. It still stings knowing what his uncle will say about him if Brian ever gets the courage to confess.

Not that they hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. Freddie seemed like he was almost daring it.

More than that, Brian hates that he couldn’t defend them. The people, who he loves the most in the world (romantic feelings put to the side) and have been nothing but supportive of him. He couldn’t find the words to talk his uncle down or to even highlight how great they are.

Is his mother only supportive of the band because she thinks it’s helping him and not because it makes him happy? What would she say if he told her how he can’t sleep and how the shadows circle outside the window at night?

Kenneth must’ve told Sandra because she looks at him oddly.

As his grandfather once said in confidence with his grandmother, “that boy is the May Family curse.”

He bites his cheek and sobs quietly. Brian reaches up to his necklace, thumbing the leaf, which has turned into more of a soothing habit than anything. There is a loud roar of laughter from deep inside the house, he closes his eyes tightly, trying to keep from crying. It would only make him look worse, and he doesn’t think he can handle the digs at dinner.

When he opens his eyes, he is startled to see that one of the flowers he thought was wilted is a startling violet color. He blinks twice and when the image doesn’t change, he reaches out to touch it. The petal is soft. Oh, these were his grandma’s favorites. He turns the pot around so that it gets more sunlight.

Brian leans back in the chair. Maybe he should buy a plant for the flat? He will ask the others if they’re allergic to anything before then, and he will have to wait for spring to find healthy bulbs.

“Dinner!”

He stands and looks at the plant one last time. After dinner, he will call the boys and wish them a happy Christmas.

* * *

Brian is ready to be home. His father had near forced him to take the offer to drive him to his flat. It had made sense considering he was packed from staying with his aunt, which is the only reason he said yes. He should have known it was to get the lecture he feared from months ago.

“Now Brian, I understand that these… people may be your friends, but they don’t look the respectable sort. That Robert –”

“Roger.”

“That Roger bloke, he’s very feminine isn’t he?”

_He’ll kick your ass if you call him that though._ Brian thinks moodily.

“And that Freddie fellow, he’s certainly a character.”

_He has personality, dad. It’s not a bad thing._

Brian crosses his arms and nods along to his father’s inflection when he is meant to. He knows this part, be the dutiful son and agree that his parents know best. They will drop it soon enough.

He could almost cry when they finally turn down the street to his flat. Brian closes his eyes. These two weeks have been far too long. He will just need to come up with an excuse as to why he can only come for Christmas day next year. More than anything he missed them. It sort of feels like he was missing an arm most days, too used to dodging hugs and stepping over them as they lay on everything but a bed.

Strangely enough, a kestrel is on top of their flat.

“Which number?”

“It’s the white one,” Brian replies.

His dad is forced to park a few car lengths from the flat. Brian practically bolts out of the car and waits by the trunk. Both of his parents exit, and he nearly rolls his eyes at the disappointed look his mother sends him.

“Brian, lovely, I would almost think you’re rushing to get away from us,” she smiles.

She means it too.

“Sorry, mum,” he ducks his head, “you know how it is, excited to be in my own bed.”

Ruth tuts, “no reason to forget your manners.”

Harold is finally able to get the trunk open, which must’ve frozen again on their drive back from the country. Brian grabs his guitar and duffle bag, leaning the case against the car as he tugs on his knapsack. He takes his father’s hand and shakes it firmly once.

He bends down to allow his mother to kiss him on the cheek once and hug him just bordering on the edge of an impolite length.

“Take care. Call weekly. Eat your vegetables. Do well in school,” Ruth rattles off.

She kisses him on the cheek again, “Love you.”

“I will and I love you,” he turns to his dad, “I’ll make sure to call.”

“Good on you, we’ll see you?”

“I might come down for a weekend in March or April.”

Ruth hums, “so long?”

“I expect my course load to pick up.” _The band already has most of January booked._

“Oh well, can’t interrupt your studies,” Ruth smiles, “we’ll see you then. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Of course not, mum,” Brian picks up his bag and case, “I’ll see you around, dad.”

Harold waves at him before climbing into the car. Ruth follows only a moment later. Brian hikes his bags on his shoulder, grips his guitar case tightly, and fights the urge to sprint to the flat. He loves his parents truly, but it is exhausting trying to remember all the little rules, even in private. The steps aren’t icy, and he is able to jog up them.

Brian kicks at the bottom of the door since he can’t set his bag down for fear of it getting wet and rolls on his toes impatiently. The locks click and he grins as John opens the door.

“Brian?” John says softly, “I thought we wouldn’t see you until this evening?”

He shrugs, “parents drove me instead.”

John smiles, “fantastic!”

Brian lets John take his duffle bags as he steps into his house. The guitar case goes against the wall as he struggles to get his winter boots off. He winces when he steps into a puddle of snow. John is careful to keep quiet, allowing Brian to get out of the main part of the hallway before calling “Bri is home!”  
There is a loud thud from upstairs and two twin shrieks of joy. Brian takes another step away from anything breakable, just as Roger and Freddie come flying down the stairs. Roger reaches him first, hugging him with just enough force that Brian stumbles back but doesn’t fall.

“Missed you, Birdie,” Roger mumbles, “you stopped calling.”  
He raises his eyes to heaven, “sorry, we went to my aunt’s and didn’t have any time to call.”

Freddie pries Roger off “hey! I wasn’t done!” and replaces him.

“Brimi! I have so many stories I want to tell you.”

Brian yawns. Freddie backs away. He looks at the three of them all now alert and concerned rather than their smiles. It makes him take a step back and wrap his arms around himself. Maybe he should have stolen some of the foundation from his aunt’s bathroom to cover the dark circles.

“Did you get any sleep, dear?”

He shrugs.

“Nope, none of that, off to bed.”

“But Freddie,” he whines.

“No, no,” Freddie pushes against his back.

John snorts, “best listen to him. He has had no one to mother since you’ve been gone.”

Brian laughs quietly. Freddie’s mothering is more along the lines of doing everything that should make you feel better, rather than thinking about what would be the most helpful. The goat’s milk washcloth had done wonders for his hair though, so Freddie has some right ideas about things.

“Oh, neither of you needed mothering?”

“I had the sniffles,” Roger shrugs, “but Freddie wanted nothing to do with that.”

“You had them for two days,” Freddie replies.

“And if it turned into some horrendous disease?”

“We would have played it by ear,” John snorts, “depends on how contagious.”

“Bri! See what I have to put up with! You would’ve helped with my sniffles, right?”

He purses his lips pretending to think about it. Roger dramatically falls against the wall, claiming that no one loves him and that they should have left him to die with his cold. John steps around Roger’s dramatics and wraps one arm around Brian. Freddie around the other side, his hand warm against his shoulder.

“We’ll put you to bed now.”

Roger jumps up from his soliloquy, “I’ll make you tea!”

Brian blinks at Roger’s new enthusiasm at tea making. Freddie shrugs and helps take of Brian’s knapsack, “we’ll get that sorted in a bit.”

He yawns again and stumbles forward at John’s urging. They march him up the stairs and past his bedroom, which he only notices when he is staring at a duvet that isn’t his. The bed is his.

“What?”

“Ours is more comfortable, and naps are always better when you aren’t alone.”

Brian nods again. He tosses his jeans and socks to the other side of the room, exchanging his heavy shirt to one of Roger’s much lighter long sleeve shirts, which only goes to his forearms. He yawns and blinks furiously, attempt to stay awake so he can at least take a few sips of Roger’s tea since he went to the trouble.

A few minutes later Roger enters, carefully walking so that none of the tea spills over. Brian takes it was grateful nod and blows on it before taking a sip. It’s good, herbier than he would usually like. Perhaps strong chamomile? He drains half of the cup before he yawns hard enough to spill some. Roger takes the cup and sets it on the nightstand.

John pulls Brian back to the bed, where Brian sleepily curls around him. Too tired to really care, because John is warm, and the rest of the house is just a touch too cold. Someone pulls a duvet over him, but he is asleep before he can figure out who it was.

* * *

His eyes flutter open. The room is the golden of late afternoon. Brian sits up and rubs at his eye, fighting away the residual grogginess. He yawns and blinks and looks around the room.

John is sitting next to him, reading through a thick electronics book.

“Well, good afternoon,” John smiles.

“Afternoon,” he shakes his head, “I needed that nap, I feel great.”

“Well, it’s less of a nap,” John laughs, “you were out for twenty hours.”

_Huh?_

“What?”

No wonder he is having such a hard time waking up. It feels like he is sweeping cobwebs from his brain. Brian pats himself on the cheek and when that fails to wake him up, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. Blood rushes from his head and he sits back down closing his eyes to the dizziness.

“Birdie?”

“Stood up too fast,” he mumbles.

John rubs his back gently. Brian slowly relaxes and lets out a breath, “okay, once more.”

This time he can stand. It forces a yawn from him, and he pops his back but at least he is on his feet.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow at John’s confused look, “no, I mean better now that you’ve slept. Did you get any while you were goner?”

Brian shakes his hand in a so-so motion, “a few hours here and there.”

“Brian,” John says, “you need sleep.”

“I know. I tried.”

John stands up with him, “well, I guess you must’ve caught up on your sleep now.”

He shrugs, “hopefully. I think I’m going to take a shower and hopefully wake up more.”

“Then we’ll go for dinner.”

Brian nods, “sounds alright.”

He moves to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face while he waits for their shower to warm up some. The dark circles haven’t completely faded but he does look better than when he first arrived home. Brian runs a hand through his hair, groaning when he realizes how oily it feels, which means he is going to have to eat with soaking wet hair.

The shower does feel nice, the water lacks the gritty feeling that it had in the country and stays an even temperature. He methodically works through his hair routine, trying to wake up, and enjoying the feeling of giving his curls the care he hadn’t had time for. _That _was a lecture, he half thought his mum was going to haul him out for a haircut or loan him her straightener. Thankfully his dad had talked her out of it, claiming that it was just a uni style.

At least the boys appreciate his curls.

He finishes up in the bathroom, washing his hands as he leaves (twenty-hours asleep who know how much it could make your bladder ache?) and moves to the kitchen. They are talking in low voices. Brian slows his pace.

“Twenty hours is a bit excessive,” John says.

“Not if he needed, but had I known Fred –”

“Like you weren’t planning it the second that you saw him?”

“Anyway, I didn’t think his sleeplessness would get so bad away from us?”

“I can’t imagine any of them would –”

“Don’t make it personal darling, especially if they don’t know.”

“Either way, we’ve fixed up our place a bit,” John cuts in.

Brian enters the kitchen coughing loud enough to cut the conversation short. He is annoyed they’re talking about him behind his back, even if it’s out of concern. The three look up, each varying states of guilt.

“Done talking about me?” He crosses his arms.

Freddie winces, “nothing bad, I promise.”

Brian huffs, “still.”  
“We’re sorry,” Roger says, “we were just worried about you not getting any sleep.”

He waves off the concern, “then you can tell me your worries.”

John scoots back just as Roger grits his teeth, “are you going to talk about it? Or just going to say you’re fine?”

“Roger, dearest,” Freddie says quietly.

“Maybe it’s because I am fine!” He throws his arms out wide, “really, I know when I need help and when I don’t. A sleepless few weeks is _normal _for me, and if you’d take a moment to actually care about it –”

“It isn’t normal though!” Roger slams his hand down, “you shouldn’t be having sleepless _weeks!”_

“Right, I forgot, I’m a freak.”

Roger tugs on his hair, “that is not what I said.”

“No, but you made it pretty clear that’s what you think.”

“Maybe if you actually listened rather than taking everything personally – argh!” Roger storms off.

Brian snorts and walks out the opposite way, just managing to catch John and Freddie sending each other concerned looks. He storms back up the step and into his bedroom this time, dropping down onto the bed and covering a face with a pillow. Maybe suffocating himself will – _Woah, way to prove you’re normal Bri. Dial back the dramatics._

For a few minutes he can hear a Taylor-tantrum, loud and destructive to their items, but short-lived. He throws his pillow to the other side of the room. The _thump _isn’t as satisfying as he hoped and now he hasn’t got a pillow.

Someone knocks on the door a little while after that. Brian lifts his head from the mattress, “piss off.”

“Okay,” Roger's voice carries under the door.

Brian drops his head back to the mattress and crosses his arms, looking like the petulant child he swears he isn’t. Sometime later, once he has unwound from his ball of anger, there is a knock on the door.

“Bri?” Roger almost sounds like he is pressed against the door.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

He thinks about it and crosses his arms again, “not yet.”

“Okay, do you want Deaky to bring you up your food?”

His stomach growls, “yeah.”

Only a minute later, he hears knocking on his door, “John?”

“Yes, I’ve got your plate and food.”

He shuffles out of his bed and opens the door just enough for John to open the door for him to grab the food. Brian sits at his desk and eats moodily when he can hear faint laughter. Halfway through his meal someone knocks on the door.

“Roger?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Roger pushes open the door balancing his own containers of food. He shuts the door just as Freddie’s story reaches its climax. Brian watches as Roger sits across the room from him. His back against the bed and not blocking the door. He can leave if he wants.

“Sorry, I didn’t like eating without you,” Roger mumbles, “liked it even less when I knew you were in the house.”

Brian chews on a pepper stick to give himself an excuse as to why his face is heating up. Roger offers a kind smile before shoveling more of his rice into his mouth.

“Have you heard of a vegetable Rog?” Brian asks.

He doesn’t see any color on his plate. Brian almost feels sick at the thought of eating nothing but meat and rice.

“I have,” Roger replies, “you just do ‘em better.”

Brian sighs, “Roger, flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I know. Was jus’ being honest.”

He coughs.

“I’m sorry, you were right. We shouldn’t talk about you behind your back, for good or ill.”

“Roger?”

“I’m sorry.”

Brian nods hesitantly, “that’s okay. Don’t do it anymore?”

“I’ll try my best,” Roger winks, “but you’re always on my mind.”

“Oh god, that was bad Rog,” Brian rolls his eyes.

“But true,” Roger scoots a little closer.

Brian grabs his plate and closes the distance. They aren’t touching but they bump elbows when Roger switches to eating with his left hand. It's nice, not having the screaming of children or the smell of cigarettes permeating the entire house. He scoots closer and a few moments after that Roger does as well. By the time they’ve finished their plates they are properly on top of each other.

Roger’s legs are in Brian’s lap, and Brian has made Roger’s shoulder his pillow. His back is twisted in an uncomfortable way, but he has missed being this physically affectionate with people. His family doesn’t hug often, and it always feels more awkward than anything.

“We did miss you Bri.”

He shrugs, “missed you too.”

They look up at the same time. Their plates stacked and forgotten on the floor. Roger’s hands cup his face, and Brian looks away flitting his eyes down to Roger’s mouth. There is drop of sauce at the corner of his mouth. He looks up when Roger hasn’t moved, blue eyes are filled with want, but waiting for permission.

Brian nods.

Their lips meet, it is soft and sweet (and it tastes like teriyaki). Roger pulls away after a second, but as though he is a well of gravity, Brian is pulled to follow him. They kiss again, this time more than a peck. Roger moves against his lips, seamlessly following his rhythm while guiding him. Brian breaks the kiss this time, half afraid that Freddie and John are going to walk in on them.

“It’s okay,” Roger says, “I’m just happy to know this isn’t completely unrequited.”

Brian moves away and mumbles knees.

“What was that?”

“I said it isn’t just you.”  
“It’d be awkward if it was.”

Brian looks up. Roger is staring at him intently, yes, but there’s no joke and a serious curl to his lips. He can’t help it, the snort forces itself from him and then it turns into full belly laughs. Roger’s lips slowly turn upwards as he bursts into giggles too. They fall on top of each other, and Brian can’t really tell who belongs to what for a moment.

He sobers, “I can’t move that fast.”

“Okay,” Roger says easily, “then we won’t move fast.”

“And I’ve never had a proper relationship.”

“We’ll do only what you’re comfortable with.”

Brian sits up and crosses his arms, “I’m hard to get along with.”

Roger snorts, “Birdie, you just locked me out for an hour and half because I was worried about you. I might have lived with you for a bit.”

“Well, not _just _that,” he pouts.

Roger leans forward and kisses Brian on the nose, pulling back wide-eyed, “do I get to that whenever I want now?”

“Only in private.”

“Great, I’m moving into your room.”

“Wait, no,” Brian squawks as Roger settles on top of him, “get off! You’re heavy.”

“Did you two kiss and make up finally?” Freddie calls from the kitchen.

Roger looks at him and presses a finger against his lips before winking at Bri.

“OoooOh Bri! Harder.”

Brian chokes before giggling. He tries to cover his mouth, but the laughs escape through them. Freddie responds, but Brian can’t make out what he is saying. Roger fake-moans again before falling into heaving laughter again.

He missed this.

* * *

Brian wakes up with hair in his mouth. He spits it out and attempts to roll out of bed through the other side, but he bumps against something. The motion earns him a groan from Roger who flips over and wraps around his waist, digging his nose into Brian’s neck. Any attempt to escape brings him right back to Roger’s chest or whatever is currently impeding his escape.

He opens his eyes, squinting them against the bright light to see that it’s John who is blocking his attempt to escape. Freddie’s hand is only a few inches from his nose. Brian frowns, had he fallen asleep in their bed? He strokes the sheets, his are rougher than the other, so he knows that he is in his bed. Now the question is why is everyone else in his bed?

Roger makes sense, they’ve been sharing a bed since their kiss two months ago. They had moved slowly, much to his relief and whole John and Freddie know (Roger wasn’t going to keep it a secret) they haven’t made any moves towards him yet. Brian carefully rolls back over so that he is face to face with Roger. John’s hand settles in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

There are things he needs to do today, but a few more minutes of sleep can’t hurt him.

Then he’ll figure out why there are more people in his bed.

* * *

Brian looks down at his hand, which is currently being held by Roger as they move towards their last destination, or rather their second to last. They must go home and change. Freddie got them a reservation at an expensive restaurant known for its pasta dishes.

“Wait,” Brian says softly.

John and Freddie stop, and Roger turns towards him tilting his head.

“Is this a date?”

“It has been all day,” John shrugs, “unless you don’t want to?”

He shakes his head, “no. I do.”

Brian blinks, “one moment.”

Roger squeezes his hand, “technically it’s more like a double date, but that’s not exactly right because I’m also dating those two.”

He looks around, surprised to see that they’re the only ones out on the street right now. Brian squeezes Roger’s hand and bites his cheek. After a few moments, he sighs.

“I’m confused.”

Roger opens his mouth but is quickly shushed by a look from Freddie. He drops John’s hand before moving in front of Brian.

“What are you confused about, Brimi?”

He shrugs and gestures vaguely, “this is a date?”

Freddie nods, “it can be, or it can just be an outing.”

Brian looks towards Roger who raises his hands.

“Okay, we probably should have asked before.”

“We talked about this, Rog.”

The blond looks away, suitably scolded, “we didn’t want to overwhelm you, but I thought that maybe you’re finally ready to at least bring John and Freddie in.”

Dating is still new to him. He steps away. Roger lets him drop his hand as Brian gives himself space. It’s still weird that there is no one on this street. Brian worries at a hangnail while he thinks about it. There isn’t a doubt that he has feelings for Freddie and John, but it seems like this is still too much too fast.

Roger looks away, biting at his lip. He winces as he pulls the hangnail off. It isn’t fair to Roger either, it’s almost like he is in two relationships and focusing on only one. Brian hates doing that to him. Part of their allure is how deeply they love each other. Will he be any more prepared in two more months? Maybe they’ll have moved on then?

Brian shakes his head. He doesn’t think this is a onetime offer. John and Freddie have taken a few steps away, watching him but not obviously so. Roger has also taken another step, but he’s waiting for Brian to speak.

What does he do?

_Remember Birdie, you aren’t going to fly until you take the fall. _His hand wraps around his grandmother’s pendant, it’s cool to the touch, and finally there are people turning onto this street. He lets out a long breath, half expecting to figure out that he’s been staring at nothing for several minutes.

“I wish you had explained it to me before,” Brian whispers.

“I know, I should have,” Roger takes a step nearer, “I don’t have an explanation as to why I didn’t.”

He nods. Roger is trying to talk more, give Brian a hint as to what’s going on. More importantly this doesn’t seem like Roger did this because he didn’t think Brian could come to the conclusion that he wants to date the others. This is just a mistake. And he does want to be in a relationship with them. What really does he have to lose now?

In a few months they’ll have an album on the shelves and fans. Maybe things will be too changed then. Brian wants _this. _

“I do want to try… dating the three of you,” he says slowly, and it feels _right. _

The world didn’t end.

Freddie, Roger, and John are smiling wildly at him.

“Great!” Freddie says.

“Will you do us the honors of accompanying us to dinner?” John says with a flourish and a bow.

“I still need to find my suit.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we had a new one made for you.”

Brian sputters, “when did you get my measurements?”

Freddie winks.

* * *

He jumps when something lands on his textbook in front of him. Brian dumps his book, only to see a tiny plushy rolling around, which he has to rescue from Frankie. Roger drapes around his shoulders, kissing him on the cheek. He blushes which causes Roger to snicker.

Brian ignores him in favor of examining the plushy. Frankie keeps batting at it, Roger clicks his tongue and send the cat away. It turns out the plush is meant to look like a badger. Soft fur and a silver ribbon around its neck, there is a clay pendant hanging from it that resembles the one Brian wears around his.

“Roger?”

He strokes down it’s back, pressing the realistic felt nose in. Brian is impressed, it is very lifelike.

“Happy anniversary!”

He turns around, “what?”

“Our friend anniversary,” Roger rolls his eyes before climbing the couch and pressing into Brian briefly before scooting away.

“Ah,” Brian says.

Has it been a year already? More importantly, how does Roger remember the date?  
“I don’t have shit memory for one,” Roger snorts, “and I keep a journal.”

“Tell it all your deepest darkest secrets?” Brian raises an eyebrow.

“That’s what John is for, journals can be read.”

He laughs.

“No, really, have you ever tried to get something from Deaky that he doesn’t want you to know?”

“I actually have things to do,” Brian counters.

Roger crosses his arms, “oh sure_ now_ arguing with Deaky isn’t a sport.”

“That’s in the studio,” Brian replies.

He strokes the fur of the stuffed badger again. It really is quite soft, the softest plushy he has ever had. Everything is lifelike besides the size of it.

“What are you going to name him?”

Brian blinks, “name him?”

“Yeah? Don’t tell me you didn’t have a toy bear named Teddy growing up, because that is just sad. Even for you.”

He laughs. Yeah, him not having a teddy bear is the saddest thing about him. Not the fact that he frequently can’t sleep because he sees “spooky things.” Roger leans forward eagerly.

“C’mon then.”

“Henry?”

Roger rolls his eyes, “really? All the names in the world?”

“What, you want me to name it after a star?”

“Is it a better name than Henry?”

“Eta Carinae?” Brian asks.

“Eta what?”

“It’s supposedly the most massive star in the galaxy.”

Roger nods his head along, “right, er, how about shortening to Eta?”

Brian hugs Eta closed to his chest. He closes his eyes, and it almost feels like he can tell how much Roger cares for him in the hug.

“I like that.”

Roger grins, “fantastic, you have twenty-four hours to find me something.”

“Oh this isn’t just you being nice?”

Roger wiggles his eyebrows before bouncing off the couch and resuming whatever he had been doing prior. Brian strokes Eta and wonders if he can find Roger as equally wonderful gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, four is a really fun chapter. I enjoyed writing it.  
And yes I said slow burn, but also if I stuck with my original 3-5k model we'd be on like chapter 9 before they got together. And yes time skips, but in my defense, plot needs to happen.  
As always leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	5. How does one see through the darkness?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised?  
This is where the story was originally meant to start so I hopefully managed to catch the inconsistencies, but one never knows.  
Enjoy!

Brian pulls on the sleeves of his new suit. He flushes when he remembers _that _day. Roger had assured him that this was the best cut for him, and Freddie had demanded that they buy at least two like it, just different colors. Then they hadn’t let him see the price, which means its far more money than he wants to think about.

Well, he will pay them back eventually, when he makes more than Trident’s stipend. He sips on his champagne and looks around the room. Freddie is charming people with a smile, getting them all to pay attention to him. Roger has three girls surrounding him. When he sees Brian looking at him, he shoots him a wink.

He clears his throat and looks away when the girls follow Roger’s gaze. John, the bugger, has vanished somewhere. Brian envies John’s ability to go unnoticed. When he is on the stage, he is magnetic, every time else, he passes without a trace.

An arm goes around his waist. He turns, but halts his tirade.

“John, warn me next time.”  
John hums.

Brian sighs, “how drunk are you?”  
“Enough.”

He pulls his glass away from John’s questing hand. Brian is used to his drinks being stolen but he is enjoying this one and he doesn’t think John needs another. The pout tells him his drink is safe for now, so he downs it quicker than he usually would.

The goal isn’t to get drunk tonight.

“Enjoying yourself, Birdie?”

“It’s a good time.”

John hooks his chin on Brian’s shoulder. He half-heartedly shrugs but doesn’t knock John loose.

“That wasn’t the question I asked.”  
“I am,” Brian says softly, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Leave with a girl,” John smirks.

“What?”

“You’re officially a rock star, leaving a party with a girl would be considered an honor.”

Brian shakes his head, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am taken.”

John presses his lips to Brian’s cheek, “cute. I didn’t mean an actual one. From behind, I pass as one.”

“And what will Roger and Freddie say?”

“They’ll come after once they notice you aren’t looking at them anymore.”

Brian leans back against John, “I haven’t done it before.”

“We’ll be gentle,” John says, “and whatever you’re thinking, it’ll be fine, because it’s you.”

He blushes, “write romance novels in your spare time?”

“How do you think I made all this money?” John wiggles his eyebrows.

Brian laughs. John smiles and keeps them tightly pressed together. He sways in place watching the party. Roger has moved back to the bar, stumbling slightly and Freddie is a little too clingy with strangers. They break apart when some guests look like they’re coming their way.

“I don’t want to, tonight,” Brian mumbles.

John raises an eyebrow, “why’s that?”

“Well, you aren’t exactly sober, and Freddie and Rog are definitely not. I’m not either.”

He can’t bring himself to finish the thought. John nods and pats him on the shoulder, squeezing as he always does.

“Then it won’t be tonight.”

Brian sighs in relief, “I won’t say no to cuddling though.”

“That is the house rule,” John smiles.

He steps forward to greet a stuffy looking businessman and his severe-looking wife. Brian tightens his smile and hides the wince at the slightly firm handshake. The woman watches him, and he backs away, using John as a shield between him and her. His grandmother’s necklace heats up.

_Not now. Not tonight._

Brian can’t help the way his eyes slide over the room. Something is there. He knows it. Even if his hallucinations and nightmares had been practically nonexistent these past few months, Brian can feel the slight tug on the base of his skull that means one is going to happen.

His lack of engagement in the conversation clearly offends the couple, even with John’s half-hearted attempts to save social decorum. They leave after a few minutes. John’s hand hesitates over his.

“Birdie, may I?”

Brian nods.

He focuses on the warmth of John’s hand; the din of the room dies down and he sighs in relief. The pendant is still warm.

“Let’s step out for a moment.”

Brian nods again. John leads them to a room that is close enough to the man ballroom that he can hear the slight echoes of a party, and occasionally his Red Special, but quiet enough Brian can easily focus on John.

“Are you seeing anything?”

He shakes his head. _Not yet. _

“Okay, we’ll wait here then.”

He buries his face into John’s chest. The warmth and the ever-lingering scent of spice keep him from jumping out of his skin every time he hears a strange noise. Brian keeps a mental track on his pendant. It burns hot for a few seconds before it quickly begins to cool.

“It’s good now.”

John hums and strokes Brian’s curls, “how do you know? I thought they just happened?”

Brian shakes his head, “I feel it in my head, I suppose, and then the necklace always feels like it’s heating up. I know it isn’t, but I guess my brain makes me think it is.”

John blinks. He rubs his thumbs across Brian’s cheeks before cupping the back of his head. Brian straightens at the gentle pressure. He laughs when John kisses the tip of his nose. They bump them together.

“Maybe we should leave Freddie and Roger to clean up their own mess.”

Brian shakes his head, “and hear about it for the next two weeks?”

“Fair point. Guess we should collect them.” 

* * *

The bells ring out seven times.

Brian doesn’t understand why they had to wait until the bells rang _exactly _seven times, only that grandma had said for them too. He pulls on the cuff of his suit. It is hot in the church. One of the altar boys makes a face at him.

His mother tongues on his ear when he is caught with his tongue sticking out.

“Brian Harold,” she hisses.

“Sorry, mama.”

Ruth glances at her watch, “it’s four minutes past. Where is the priest?”

“Honey, we’ll say something if it gets to half an hour,” Harold says softly.

He pats his wife’s hand.

Brian fumbles with the hem of his suit jacket. He looks back at the altar boy, who is struggling with the incense. Something appears behind him, shadowed by the pipes of the organs. It looks like a man, and maybe it is the person who is going to play. He has never heard an organ played like that before.

The shadow draws nearer to the boy, but it recoils when the incense lights. It turns and looks directly at him. He stills. The shadow starts moving towards him. Walking through the priest, he sneezes but otherwise doesn’t react.

Brian grabs on to his mother’s arm, tugging on it to get her attention.

“Brian, manners.”

“Mama.”

“Mama at home, mom in public, my dear.”

The shadow comes closer. Its face twists, fangs elongating and eyes flowing. He grabs the pendant around his neck. Grandma gave it to him, told him not to ever take it off. Pressure builds in his chest like he is struggling to breathe.

The pendant was given to him the night before his grandma died. Maybe that’s why this thing was coming to him. Brian yanks it off, the knot slipping loose. The pendant drops to the ground.

It bounces once before shattering.

He freezes as the shadow charges him. Claws rip through the air, chilling it like winter. One rushes closer, a second one splits off from it. The first one reaches down, and the claw is going to rip through his chest.

Brian wakes up screaming. There is something in the corner of his room. The shadow! He screams again, throwing his hands up to protect him from its claws.

The light clicks on. Roger is wielding one of his drumsticks like a sword. His eyes flick around the room and he drops his arms. The shadow is the coat stand. His breath stutter stops as he tries to calm down.

“Birdie! Are you okay?” Roger asks, his eyes darting around the room.

He struggles to find words, “yes.”

Roger raises an eyebrow, “then?”

“Nightmare.”

Brian gasps and clutches at his neck. The pendant is still there, surrounded by the three other charms on the silver chain. He lets out a soft breath and then starts sobbing. Roger shifts at the edge of his bed.

“The – the funeral, when my _thing_ started, the shadows but then the pendant and I thought the coat rack but the pendant broke and the coat rack was one.”

Roger glances at the coat rack before climbing onto the bed, “may I?”

“Please.”

Brian relaxes as the warmth from Roger eases into him. Roger strokes through his hair and his eyes start to drift.

“Ah, ah,” Roger grabs his jaw, “eyes on me, Birdie.”

Brian stares at a spot on the wall. Roger clicks his fingers. He flicks his eyes to Roger’s bright blue ones. They crinkle as he smiles.

“Hey there. What do you see?”

“You.”

He grabs Roger’s hand. The panic slowly ebbing away as he goes longer without seeing a shadow and the longer he gets away from the memory.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I woke you up,” he says softly.

Roger shakes his head, “I wasn’t asleep.”

Brian raises an eyebrow.

“I was barely asleep.”

“So, I’m sorry.”

He squawks as Roger tugs them backward. Roger climbs on top of him, pressing him against the mattress.

“Oh no,” Roger says dryly, “I have to comfort my beloved boyfriend to keep away the bad dreams. I’m so put out.”

Brian snorts, “what’s Freddie going to say, you sleeping with another man?”

“I’ll let you know when he stops sleeping with John.”

“Wait, I’m seeing John as well,” Brian laughs.

Roger leans up and rubs their noses together, “damn.”

Brian blinks and then frowns, “where are they?”

He knows for a fact that they would never just send one person in to deal with… him. They’ve never slept through one of his nightmares before. Perhaps it has been long enough that they don’t think about it anymore.

“They went to get something from the store. Snacks, because Deaky is going to pull an all-nighter for a class.”

“What one?”  
Roger blinks, “don’t remember.”

He nuzzles into Brian’s neck.

“I could help,” Brian feels sleep start to tug at him.

Roger lays his entire weight on him, “nope. Sleep time.”

“Rog.”

“You haven’t slept well in three days, Birdie.”

“But–”

“Nuh-uh. See, I’m sleeping.”

Brian huffs.

“You don’t see anything, yes?”

“Nothing but you.”

* * *

“My, my, what a beautiful bird we have in our home this morning.”

Brian laughs, “morning, Freddie.”

Freddie dances over to him. Brian gets briefly distracted by his hips. They spin around the kitchen, dancing to whatever tune Freddie is humming.

“Oh, that’s very nice.”

“Like it? I think it works well with your White Queen song.”

“A sperate song?”

Freddie hums.

John walks into the kitchen. His hair pulled back into a low ponytail, fringe sticking up in a way that Brian knows that he has been messing with it.

“Finish your course work?”

He blinks before he nods, “mostly.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, no.”  
Brian tilts his head, “it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You know electrical engineering theories? Brian, I’ll be okay.”

Brian bites his lip and looks away. It feels like the only one of his boyfriends he has seen recently is Roger. That’s only when he is having a nightmare or episode. There is a wall between them, and he can’t figure out how it got there. Everything had been fine until the album release.

Freddie pushes his head up, “it’s a beautiful morning, why are you frowning?”

He shrugs. Roger waltzes into the kitchen which distracts both John and Freddie for a moment.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Freddie frowns but allows Brian to slip from his grasp. The pressure is building in his chest. Not seeing them hadn’t really bothered him, all of them had lives outside each other. Granted, they’ve always had the flat as their place. He always thought that nothing could touch them here.

He sits on the floor, not realizing that he had stopped before his shirt rode up so he’s touching the cold plaster of the wall. His hand drifts up and becomes tangled and tugs on his hair. Why is he even panicking? There isn’t a problem to panic about. God, what is he going to say if one of them finds him? What if they don’t come to find him?

“It was another bad night,” Roger’s voice pierces the air.

“The fourth night in a row,” John says, “I thought we were past this.”

“It’s getting worse again. What if it starts happening when we aren’t around?”  
Brian stills. His hand cupping over his mouth at the sharp intake of breath. This is the same conversation his parents had before they had him admitted. _They wouldn’t_, would they? He hasn’t told them about that year.

Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe they would have done it earlier if they knew.

“Something has to be done,” John says, “he managed before us, barely.”

“Well, we shouldn’t decide things without Brian. I’m going to go see where he ran off too.”

Delilah takes that moment to meow loudly as she sits in front of Brian. He waves her away, but his hand is too shaky. Brian closes it and pulls it to his chest trying not to panic.

The bad feeling races up his spine and the pressure builds in his chest.

“Birdie?”

At Freddie’s call, he pushes against the wall. His hand closes around his grandma’s pendant. It is warm to the touch. Brian’s eyes dart around the room. The last time he had seen it, had been _months _ago. He felt safe here.

“There you are –”

Delilah hisses, her back arching. Brian turns his head. _Oh god. _It is right there. Sunlight streams through the shadow, but it remains featureless and solid. Somehow it feels different. He backs away from it, right into Freddie’s legs and jumps at the contact.

“_Shit_, Birdie – Brian, eyes on me. Delilah, can you? Thanks, dear.”

The shadow moves closer.

Freddie hovers nervously beside him, but it seems to feed the shadow. It grows more tangible, almost like Brian could touch it. Now it moves faster. He backs away but can’t get his feet under him.

Brian slips on the runner and sprawls backward. _No. It’s coming._

“Brian,” Freddie’s voice cuts through his fear.

The shadow makes a turn towards Freddie. He screams not sure what else he can do to save Freddie. The shadow starts cooling down the air. Brian can’t tear his eyes away from the thing, but he can’t let it hurt Freddie. It’s going to! He needs to –

John darts between them. He stands with his arms spread wide, scowling at the space the shadow had been. It pulls away and up not moving more than a meter near John. Brian turns his head and sees the split edging through the wall next to him.

His arms give out.

There is a sharp smell of sage and smoke. Both shadows scatter. The pendant goes cold. He wraps one hand around it, the jagged edges of wood cutting into his hand.

John spins towards him, crouching down.

“Hey, babe, you’re okay. They’re gone.”

Brian shakes his head. Why is everything getting worse? He was fine!

Roger shakes his head, “this is too much.”

No!

“Brian, eyes on me,” Freddie says, “may I?”

He shakes his head and sits up. His knees brought to his chest. Freddie hums and keeps his hands at his side.

“Okay, okay. Just keep those pretty eyes on me.”

“We can’t ignore this!”

John’s voice is raised. He flinches as Roger raises his hands.

“No, pay them no mind.”

“Don’t,” he whispers.

“Birdie?”  
Roger makes a noise of anger. They must have moved down the hallway. Brian shifts so that he can see them in the corner of his eye.

“Don’t send me away. To a hospital,” he says quietly.

Defeated.

“I won’t – I’ll stop being so obvious about it.”

Freddie gasps.

Roger kicks the wall. Brian jumps, but it is a mechanical response. The phone rings. Everything feels so fuzzy.

“Birdie, what?”

“No, don’t call a hospital. I won’t. I’m not. _Please _don’t send me.”

The words leave his mouth automatically but they’re a token protest. He won’t win this fight.

“Brian,” Freddie’s voice wavers, “goodness, no.”

He sobs, which brings Roger back down the hallway.

“Freddie?”

“I don’t know. He thinks we’re going to send him to a hospital.”

Roger straightens, “Bri, please calm down.”

Maybe if he calms down enough, they won’t send him. Freddie’s hands flutter anxiously around him. He takes in a deep breath. His heart rate is thready in his chest, but if he calms down then they won’t because he is acting normal.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

It feels like he is going to shake out of his body.

“Don’t,” Freddie says.

“Okay.”  
“May I?”

Brian nods.

Freddie grabs his hands. He looks up at the sharp features of Freddie’s face. It’s familiar. It’s _real._

Roger sits down next to him, one hand on his shoulder. Brian stays still. The hand squeezes, almost tight enough to be painful but Brian sinks into the contact.

“None of that, Birdie.”  
“I’m okay.”

“Want to go to the couch?”

Brian shakes his head.

“Want to explain the whole sending you to a hospital bit?” Freddie frowns.

Roger sends him a sharp glare.

He never wants to explain that. It makes him odd. They won’t want him after they learn. A small logical part of his brain tells him that they would have stopped wanting him a long time ago when his hallucinations started getting bad again if it was in their nature to kick him out. Hell, they knew about his problem before they got together.

He can’t doubt them now.

“Not without John.”

He looks down at his hands. The shaking is lessening, and he wills it to stop. Brian folds his hands into fists, and it hides the tremors. Freddie makes a face back at Roger, who ignores him.

“Come on, let’s get off the floor?”

Brian doesn’t think that he can stand. He doesn’t really want to leave either. This hallway at least is clear of any shadows. He shakes his head again. Roger lets out a soft sigh and Brian tenses.

“We’ll stay here if you want to.”

It isn’t normal. He just promised to stop acting like this. John appears down the hallway. Brian wonders where he had gone.

“So the travel agency called,” John starts.

Roger opens his mouth, confused, but then Freddie elbows him.

“Right,” Roger rubs his side, “what’d they say?”

“There was a cancellation and they wanted to know if we wanted to move out booking up, a week extra, for free?”

Freddie stares. Brian narrows his eyes. What booking? He would remember a trip.

“Right!” Freddie says loudly, “we were going to go on a trip to celebrate the album!”  
“The album came out months ago,” Roger frowns.

“But you had three classes, so we decided to go in summer, _remember?”_

Brian looks between them, “I don’t.”

“Uh,” John clears his throat, “it was meant to a surprise for you. You always wanted to go to Brighton, right?”

He nods, “now?”

“Tomorrow, really.”

“The fresh air might help,” Roger says, “get away from the city, maybe you’ll be able to sleep better.”

“Ah, maybe.”

“Great! We should get packed!” Roger’s voice is pitchy.

Brian tilts his head. Freddie stands offering his hands out for Brian to take. He does, and thankfully his feet are able to keep him standing. His knees are shaking, and he feels like he hasn’t slept in a week. Nothing unusual for having gone through another spell so shortly after the first.

As Roger would remind him, it’s almost been a week since he slept.

“I’ll get the suitcases down from the closet,” he says, “then I might try for a nap.”

John smiles, “that sounds good. I’ll have lunch made for you when you get up.”

With that Brian starts heading to the front closet. The pendant is cool against his skin. He’s hyper-aware of how the other three lay against his skin. They never heat up like his grandmother’s. The thought he had as a kid, that the pendant causes this, pops into his head.

Only the idea of taking it off makes his skin crawl. The one time he had it off for a significant length of time (he remembers the white walls of the hospital), it made everything so much worse. Almost like he could see seams in the world. Daily migraines. Putting it on again had been a relief. Even if he had to deal with people calling him girly for wearing jewelry, which was honestly the mildest of the insults lobed at him once he returned to school. What would his classmates say about him now?

“Mom will come over and… watch the cats,” Freddie says, “I’ll just have to tell her we moved it up a week.”

“Are you sure about this place, John? At least here we know what’s keeping things out.”

“It’s been my family’s for years. Never once have we had any problems...”

John’s voice trails off. Ah. It must be the family cottage John always talked about, that they used to have Deacon family reunions at. They must have got it at a good price. Brian smiles, a few weeks away from London sounds like a good idea.

He grimaces when he glances out of the window and sees a man running down the street soaking wet and in only one shoe. The man passes through the street post and Brian looks away.

What was the name of his doctor?

He reaches up and pulls all two suitcases down. They share clothes anyway, so they’ve never seen the reason to get two more suitcases. Brian also grabs their toiletry bag and wraps the straps around the handle.

“Suitcases are down!” He calls out.

“Thanks, Birdie!”

Brian shuffles towards the bedroom. His bedroom, rather. The sheets are still soaked from sweat last night. He grimaces before shrugging; he will change them when he gets up. Fresh sheets to come home to.

His eyes sweep around the room, checking each hidden spot for any shadows. When he doesn’t see any he curls up on his bed, and he drops off to sleep.

He sees Roger, John, and Freddie all talking in the kitchen. Smells the tea that John’s drinking.

“Brighton will be good,” John’s voice is warbling.

“We still don’t know why…” Roger’s voice becomes distorted, “here is good.”

“We’ll let your family work their Taylor magic. Reinforce the seals,” Freddie says his voice distorting too, “besides I’ve never been to Brighton.”

“The house is surrounded by running water,” John counters, “there shouldn’t _be _anything.”

Brian stares at the ceiling. What an odd dream.

* * *

They take the train to Brighton. Roger’s mother is lending them the cash since the tickets were non-refundable and for a week later. Brian is doubled over in the seat. John’s hand rubs across his shoulders, helping to ease some of the sickness.

The hallucinations are always worse on the train. He glances at the empty seats next to him, but there are a mother and a young child looking back at him. Brian grimaces and covers his mouth.

Behind Freddie, a teenage girl makes eyes at Roger. He reaches out for Roger’s hand. The girl sticks up her nose and vanishes.

“What do you see, Birdie?” Freddie asks quietly.

Brian tightens his jaw, “three. They’re watching us.”  
John’s head turns towards the mother and child, but the girl has joined them now too. She is scowling at Brian but keeps flicking her eyes to Roger.

“Ignore them,” John says, “looks at us.”

He would like to, but as the train takes a corner his stomach stays behind them. Brian bends further resting his head on his knees. Cold brushes his neck and he bolts upright, regretting the movement as he must swallow down the bile. Freddie looks guilty as he is reaching up to the air vent.

“Sorry.”

“I thought it was trying to touch me_._”

Freddie looks guiltier if possible.

“They always make everything feel cold,” Brian offers.

A woman bumps into John. She mumbles a quick apology, but her eyes track down Brian. John waves it off and turns his attention back to Brian.

“I hate that I can’t tell.”

“It’s okay,” Roger says.

Brian shakes his head. It isn’t. He is _seeing _things. His mother made it clear enough that this isn’t okay.

“Okay, new plan,” Roger replies easily, “don’t pay any attention to anything that isn’t in these four seats. We’re all real.”

John offers a small grin, “you just want people to pay attention to you.”

Roger smiles.

Brian squeezes his hand and Roger squeezes back. Freddie grabs his other hand and mumbles words into it. He closes his eyes and feels the warmth from his boys. The rhythmic rubbing of John’s hand on his back. The way Roger’s calluses catch on the smooth skin of the back of his hand. Freddie’s melodic voice.

Brian lets out a soft sigh. The swaying of the train starts to fade into the background. He is surrounded by love and he knows that if he opens his eyes the hallucinations will still be there. This way he can pretend it’s the motion sickness and not the constant fraying of his nerves waiting for the next episode.

They stay like that for the rest of the train ride. Brian offering little pieces for conversation every once and a while, and as soon as they stop at Brighton, he bolts off the train. Deaky already promised to grab their shared luggage. He just needs off.

There is no one else on the platform yet and so he steals a spot against the column where he can press his back against the wall and watches. People start appearing, on the platform and without having walked out the door. Brian’s hand raises to his pendant. It is still cool to the touch. A few kids point at him.

John walks in front of him, blocking his view of the platform, “okay?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Brian shrugs, “it’s nice to get off the train.”

Roger pops up beside him, his eyes scanning across the platform, “anything?”

“No,” Brian smiles.

He nods at the little girl waving at him. Brian knows he shouldn’t pretend that they’re real, but sometimes it feels real.

Freddie wraps around his arm and steers him towards where the taxis are waiting, “wonderful. It’s that country air.”

Brian rolls his eyes.

“London air quality is awful,” John shrugs.

“Do you want me to carry a bag?” Brian frowns.

Somehow John ended up with both suitcases, they are dragging behind him. Brian glances at Roger who looks away, his face carefully innocent.

“No, I got it, but if Roger would like to help, I won’t say no.”

Roger starts whistling and Brian swats him, “help Deaky.”

“I’m comforting you,” Roger grabs his hand and swings it wildly.

“Or dislocating my shoulder,” Brian laughs.

Freddie smiles, “see? The country air is already bringing back that lovely smile.”  
Brian blushes. He can’t deny that Freddie has a point, he doesn’t feel the thrum of London underneath his feet. His head isn’t buzzing for once and none of the hallucinations he does see pay him less mind than he tries to do them.

John finally gets Roger to pick up the slack by dropping the suitcase and leaving it until Roger goes to grab it.

“How nice of you, Roger.”

“I’m saving us from Freddie,” Roger replies.

Freddie scoffs and grabs his chest, “it’s true, my good scarves are in there.”

“All of them?” Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Only the good ones.”  
“All of them,” John says, “he thinks everything is good.”

Freddie drops Brian’s arm to look more indignant at John’s words. He pokes Freddie’s face, which ruins the look because the singer starts laughing. Roger’s eyes light up and his smile softens. Brian looks at the three of them the tension seems to be bleeding from the further they walk away from the platform.

Had he really gotten that bad?

“Yes,” John says.

Brian winces as he realizes he had spoken out loud.

“Birdie, you haven’t been that bad since before we met you,” Freddie says, “you looked like the living dead.”

“Not that bad,” Roger assures him, “but there’s a reason that we have to sleep as humans. Besides, I think that we need to take a few weeks and reconnect.”

“I agree,” Brian says softly.

Roger makes a noise of confusion.

“It – I don’t know – you guys were home every night, or mostly, and it still felt like there was a wall between us.”

When no one says anything, Brian crosses his arms around his middle, “it’s probably part of my thing. It happens.”

Freddie coos, “no, Birdie, we’ve all been a little distracted. But now we have two weeks of just the four of us.”

“And hopefully no murders,” John adds.

Roger shoots him a glare. John shrugs and walks in front of him causing Roger to trip over the suitcase trailing behind him.

“Oy!”

Freddie grabs Brian’s hand and starts walking faster, “let’s leave those two to fight it out like children.”

“But your scarves.”

For a moment Freddie looks genuinely torn about grabbing the case from Roger. Brian squeezes Freddie’s hand.

“If worse comes to worst, we can always buy more in town.”

“Oh, they have lovely antique stores here,” Freddie says, “I read the page on it.”

“Do we need more?”

“Who knows what kind of magic you can find here?”

Brian stomach curls, “is lunch a type of magic?”

“I suppose it can be. Do you want to get to the house first?”

“No, we should probably get groceries while we’re in the town proper.”

“Mum reminded me of the diner we went to when I was little,” John says, “surprisingly they have a good selection of vegetarian dishes.”

Brian turns around. Roger lost their bummer suitcases if the pout is anything to go by. He tilts his head as a person walks through Roger, and the blond shivers before following the hallucination. Must’ve been the wind.

“What about you Roger?”

“I could go for some chips.”

“Then it’s settled, John, darling, do you want to lead the way.”

“Yeah, it’s not too far of a walk, and near the co-op too.”

They walk in silence. Brian tilts his head towards the sky. The sky is clear blue, and the sun is warm, but for a summer day it isn’t unbearably hot and he can smell the water from here. This place feels calm, where London is nothing but a bombardment of constant negative energy.

“I like it here,” Brian says after a moment.

“It’s lovely,” John agrees, “wait until you see the place we’re staying.”

“I can’t wait.”

They’re greeted by an old lady once they walk into the tiny dinner. Her eyes appear almost yellow for the briefest second before she smiles widely.

“John! It’s been ages!”

“Hello Ms. Greenstone.”

“None of that, call me Addie. You Deacons and your constant Ms. Greenstone-ing me. You’d think I was my mother.”

John rubs the back of his neck, “apologies.”

“And who are the handsome men you have with you?”

“Freddie, Roger, and Brian meet Addie. She’s worked here since before I can remember.”

Brian smiles at her as she hands out the menu. She rattles on about their specials and what has changed since the last time that John has been here. The menu is stylized with red and white edging, probably to mimic a big top tent.

A lot of the food is fatty and greasy. His stomach hasn’t quite recovered from the train ride and the smell of grilling beef makes him gag. Roger strokes his back as he responds to a question. He feels bad that he hasn’t paid Addie any mind, but she seems more interested in John anyhow.

“I got you a water,” Freddie reaches over and barely rubs his thumbs over Brian’s knuckle.

“Thank you.”

“Poor dear,” Freddie coos, “it looks like they have salads.”

“Pasta, too,” John says.

Brian lays his head on the table. Thankfully it isn’t sticky. Roger keeps rubbing up and down his back.

“We can get some pills while we pick up groceries. At least for the way home.”

He nods. How had he forgotten how badly traveling by trains affects him?

Addie comes back with the drinks. Roger settling for a fizzy drink, while John and Freddie have both opted for juice. Brian presses his head to the glass, the water is room temperature but it still soothes him.

“Brian?”

“Getting there.”

“Can we have a few more minutes?”

Roger’s hand is back on his back. Slightly warmer now but slowly the nausea ebbs away. He sits up and sips at his water.

“This will last for the rest of the day.”

“D’you want to go to the house now? We’ll have to drive but maybe resting will settle you?”

“Not so soon after eating.”

John nods and links his feet around Brian’s ankle. He leans back, stretching his stomach feels slightly better.

“What’ll you have?” Addie returns, holding a tiny notepad in her hands.

“I’ll just have the house salad.”

Addie scribbles something down, “and for you lovely?”

“Fish and chips,” Roger says.

“I’ll have the same.”

John nods and hands back the menus. Brian dreads smelling the fish.

“Are you certain?”

Brian rolls his eyes, “for the fourth time, I am. It’s uncomfortable but I won’t be sick.”

Roger raises his hands, “sorry, Birdie.”

The rest of the meal passes in quiet conversation. Brian feels bad for his mandarin oranges, he didn’t need to stab them that hard.

* * *

Brian leans back against the grass. The sun warms his face and the tiny blades tickle his cheek. Freddie and Roger are cleaning up from breakfast. Today was too nice of a day to spend inside, and he is glad that today John is going to show them some of the springs around the area.

Supposedly they’re good for healing. He knows that they hope it’ll put him to sleep for one night during this vacation. His eyes feel gritty because once more he spent all night looking at the various books around the house instead of sleeping.

It’s upsetting Freddie, which annoys him. He should be the one upset that he can’t manage a night’s sleep. Last night he had faked being asleep if only to give himself a moment of privacy. No concern. No weird looks. He was just Brian May a man unable to sleep. Of course, he does wonder what they had been talking about.

_It's an old purification spell. The strongest I could find._

_Looks easy enough and there isn’t a reason to not try it._

_I imagine it’ll be fun, just look at what must be done._

Probably reading one of Freddie’s weird novels he likes too much.

Something warm and fluffy drops on his face. Brian pulls the towel down to see John hovering over him. His own towel slung over his shoulder.

“Sunning yourself.”

“‘s nice.”

“Makes you want to nap?”

“John, don’t.”

“Sorry, love.”

John leans over and kisses Brian just below his eye. He grins and kisses whatever space he can find on John that doesn’t make him move too much. John pushes him back and Brian squeals as John keeps peppering kisses all over his face. He pats at John’s chest to get him to stop. They turn from silly to serious when John presses their lips together, he lets John explore his mouth. Brian plays with the end of his hair.

John pulls away, gently tugging on his bottom lip. One hand settles just at the hem of his shirt, not going further, but letting Brian know that there is an offer before he can decide the screen door bangs open and then squeaks shut.

“Looks like we’re missing the fun,” Freddie says.

Brian cranes his neck back, John kisses the stretched skin before finding a spot and sighing happily as he starts to suck. He gasps in surprise and stares at his other two partners.

Roger is practically glowing, the early morning orange light catching on his hair and making him golden. He is bright against the aged wood of the Deacon Cottage. Brian watches as the loose linen shirt rises as he stretches his arms about his head. Freddie, on the other hand, has opted to skip down the steps. The light brightens the orange silk of his dressing robe and his skin looks sun-kissed. At this angle his eyes almost look like amber.

Freddie knees next to his head and they share an upside-down kiss. It is awkward and sweet, and he loves every second of it. Unfortunately, it only lasts a second. He whines as Freddie moves away.

“Well, we want to get to the baths, don’t we?” Freddie smiles cheekily.

Brian opens his mouth.

“Yep,” John stands pulling Brian’s hands up with him.

He looks to Roger for help, but Roger has already taken off towards the path that supposedly will lead them to the baths. Brian sighs, realizing that he has lost. Then he tilts his head. What had he wanted? Freddie turns and holds out his hand, Brian takes it with a little bow.

John snorts.

Yeah. He wants.

They talk about the trees and nothing on their way to the pools. Brian loves watching the day come to life, listening as the animals go about their day in the underbrush and then pointing them out to Freddie when they pass.

“I should be grateful your love for music is greater than animals,” Freddie says, “otherwise you’d run off into the wilderness and then we’d have to find a new guitarist.”

“Do we get to keep the Special?” Roger calls back.

Brian shrugs, “if I’m in the wilderness, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Careless answer for a man who made sure that when we tour, his guitar gets a plane ticket.”

He flushes, “there’s too much jumbling about in the belly!”

“Sure,” John laughs.

His response is cut off by their arrival at the pool. He stares with his mouth wide open. It is crystal clear, and tiny flowers blanket most of the ground, and there is a waterfall, likely from one of the pools above ground. This place feels as though he has just walked into a fairy tale.

Roger shucks off his shirt and shorts and then jumps into the pool. He surfaces with a shout.

“It’s cold!”

“There hasn’t been enough sun to warm it,” John calls.

Brian starts unbuttoning his shirt, following Freddie who has dropped his dressing gown over a rock and kicked off his sandals. Cold water doesn’t exactly sound like the most comfortable thing in the world.

“Isn’t the rumor that they heal better when it is cold?”

“Supposedly,” John replies, “mum always brought us here in the middle of the day.”

Freddie steps into the water much more calmly, whining when the water laps at his ankle. Brian steps back in time to avoid getting splashed when Roger drags Freddie under. Silver glints in the sunlight. Neither Freddie nor Roger have taken their necklaces off. Brian touches his. He doesn’t want to risk the charms falling off if he unclasps it, but he doesn’t want it to fall to the bottom of the pool if their roughhousing gets too much.

John kisses him on the cheek, “it’ll be fine.”

He glances at John, who is also naked save for the necklace. Brian nods and pushes his shorts down his hips (going red at the appreciative glances from the other three) and grabs John’s hand tugging him in the water. It is a shock to his system, goose pimples break out over his entire body, but as he sinks lower into it and his body adjusts, he feels how clean the water is.

“Thoughts?”

He smiles at Roger, “it’s nice. Feels wonderful.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, looking very much like a cat that has gotten dropped into the tub. He has his arms crossed over his chest and is shivering. Roger splashes him, which only makes Freddie puff up like a hissing cat and he climbs out of the water grumbling.

“Aw, don’t be like that babe.”

Roger dips under the water before coming up and spitting it like a fountain. John grimaces and paddles the water away.

“It’s just my spit,” Roger says.

John raises an eyebrow.

“Now isn’t the time to be grossed out by it.”

Brian laughs into his hand, covering it up like a cough. John flicks water at him. He shrugs, he is already wet.

“I was getting the oil you nonce,” Freddie holds up a purple crystal bottle.

Brian purses his lips. Roger swims up behind him and drags him towards the middle of the water. He kicks weakly but mostly lets his legs trail out behind him as Roger does most of the work.

“You’ll like this,” Roger purrs.

He leans his head back on Roger’s shoulder, “yeah?”

“Fancy bath, like the Romans did.”

He quirks an eyebrow. Freddie wades back in the water, John stays further away, having found a natural ledge to sit on.

“Don’t want to join?” He asks.

“Not yet.”

He hums. Freddie gives him a quick kiss on the lips. Brian smiles and he hears Roger huff.

“Aw,” he places a kiss on Roger's neck.

“Someone cares about me.”  
Freddie swats him, “hush you.”

“That doesn’t look like enough for all of us.”

“We’ve done this before,” Freddie says, “and we want you to experience it all. It gets ah, a little distracting.”

Brian turns bright red.

“I saw you and John earlier, don’t be shy now.”

He coughs, “that wasn’t – we weren’t.”

“No?” John calls, “now I feel embarrassed. That was certainly my intention.”

Brian squirms out of Roger’s grip, or tries anyway, the blond holds fast. Freddie slides between his legs and Brian tries to look anywhere but his partners. He wants this, but he really doesn’t know what is expected of him. Does he play hard to get? Just say yes?

“Oil first,” Freddie strokes his face, “I’d hate to have face the cold water for nothing.”

The cork is popped open and the soft scent of citrus and herbs hits Brian’s nose. It smells like his parent’s house in the wintertime. Odd for a summer bath, but he can’t complain much about the scent. Roger adjusts him slightly, and Brian realizes they’re sliding towards the tiny “waterfall.” It isn’t a lot of water, about the same amount as a well pressured shower head.

Freddie tosses the cork to the shore and dumps some of the oil into his hand. Roger takes the vial. He watches eagerly as Freddie rubs both of his hands together. The first touch is on his face, gentle and a question. He nods and Freddie slowly works the oil into his cheeks working downward. Once he reaches his neck, Brian feels Roger’s hand on his shoulder.

He opens his eyes, unaware of when he closed them to see John wading towards them. The vial is handed off again and Brian gasps when Roger begins kneading his shoulders. Freddie finishes his neck and moves onto his chest.

Brian squirms away when Freddie accidentally brushes against his nipple. The touches are sensual, but they aren’t searching. He can’t believe this is enough to get him interested. When he cracks open an eye, he can tell that the other three aren’t aroused, or they don’t look like they are. Large hands rub his feet. John too? The foot massage feels awkward until John first digs his thumbs into the spot right above his Achilles tendon. He moans.

Brian cuts it off quickly though. Too embarrassed about the noise. Brian peeks through his lashes to see Freddie smiling, but there is a slight flush on his cheeks. John repeats the motion and again Brian lets out a quite loud moan. Well, the game is up for him.

Except the others don’t say anything and continue massaging the oil onto him. Roger is currently working on his right arm, nimble fingers working out a knot in his bicep Brian hadn’t been aware of. It feels so good. His head is foggy with the sensation. Freddie is working on his left hand, digging into his palms. The tension gives and this time he is less embarrassed by the moans.

They at least know about this quirk of his. His hands get so tense from so many hours playing guitar that Roger has to work out the ache. Brian loves the wrist massage technique Roger uses because it works so well. It makes his entire arm feel boneless in the best way possible. He needs to learn it. Not that it would help because another person must do it.

Well, he’ll just have to keep Roger around then.

Freddie moves up to his forearm at the same time Roger gets to his wrist and does whatever it is, and Brian practically melts. He doesn’t care about the sighs and gasps falling from his lips any longer. Everything feels so relaxed. The oil and their hands are the only thing he feels. Even the contrast from the heat of his partner’s hands and the cold water feels fantastic.

He flutters his eyes open. Freddie’s cheeks are dark, but he keeps focused on working Brian’s bicep. Roger keeps looking at him with blown pupils. He offers a smile that he isn’t sure if that coherent. John is working on his thighs now. His palms rub along the muscle and push them out of the tenseness.

Brian groans when a knot slips free and lets his legs open wider. John takes advantage of the space and gets a better angle on his hamstring. He is pretty sure this should hurt to some extent, but it only feels relaxing. John repeats the motion a few more times. Roger works back away from his palm to his wrist. Freddie’s fingertips are pressing into his back.

He sighs happily and closes his eyes again. This little world of theirs is perfect.

“I take it your relaxed?”

He turns his head towards Roger’s voice. Close enough to his ear that he can feel Roger’s hot breath.

“Mmm yeah, if this rock star business doesn’t pan out you have a career as masseuses.”

Brian opens his eyes just to send Roger a cheeky wink. Freddie rests his chin on Brian’s shoulder, reaching around to stroke the soft skin of his belly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed Birdie.”

“This bath was the best idea.”

“I do tend to have them.”

He rolls his eyes enough that John can see them. Brian runs his eyes over John’s slender form he is all lithe muscle covered with a few tiny bruises around his hips. They’re yellow and fading. This isn’t exactly the most opportune spot, but he doesn’t want to break the spell that has fallen over them.

Brian shifts, leaning heavily onto Freddie and wrapping his legs around John who is absent-mindedly rubbing the crest of his hipbones. Roger is placing light kisses on his shoulder and it isn’t long before he starts sucking marks into Brian’s collarbone. The love and trust he feels for these three men overwhelms him. It sits heavily on his chest. The safety and peace that he thought impossible inside his own head that he can bask in are, in part, because of these three.

He makes sure John is looking at him completely by pressing his heels into the small of his back.

“Make love to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, a mean cliffhanger, but this is the price for an early update, I say as if I hadn't had this chapter written for a long time.
> 
> Some fun developments: The Thing doing its Thing (or is it a different thing), Delilah noticing the Thing, a romantic purification bath (there's no way this can go wrong, right?), and the Taylor Clan steps in to help.
> 
> Side note: I may miss an update because it's Thanksgiving next Thursday (for Americans at least) so this is an extra-long cliffhanger.
> 
> Second Side Note -  
Brian: I don't need you to buy me a cab, I'm fine on a train.  
Also Brian: I get severe motion-sickness on trains.
> 
> Uhm. Yeah. You know the drill, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr.


	6. What else can I do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that I'm going to take a break for finals which are the next two weeks rather than this week, because I really need to do some final prep and tighten up some projects and essays. Which is why you're getting an update this week instead.  
That being said, enjoy!

Roger turns his head towards him and kisses gently. They break apart, but only to catch their breaths. Freddie makes a disgruntled noise and Brian breaks away to kiss him. It turns heated and Freddie’s thumb strokes just above his rapidly growing hardness. John runs a hand down his thighs and back up again.

“Are you sure?” John asks.

Brian nods, “yes.”

“Right here?” He leans forward, pausing just before he meets Brian’s lips.

Brian looks towards the shore. Outside doesn’t seem like the best idea, given that anyone could still reasonably stumble into this clearing (and he pushes away the part of him that’s excited about that idea) and there might be sticks. The ground is probably uncomfortable to lay on too. But he doesn’t have the patience to go back to their cabin.

He looks towards John, unsure of what he wants to do. John kisses him lightly but pulls away.

“Let us know,” Freddie purrs.

“Can we do it in the water?” Brian asks quietly.

He looks away from the shore when after a few moments there isn’t a reply. Roger’s jaw is hanging open and John looks like he is recalibrating. Brian can’t get a good look at Freddie, but he can feel how his fingers tense on his stomach.

Roger bends down and kisses him behind the ear, “we can. But are you sure? We want this to be special for you.”

“Any place is going to be special with you,” Brian trails off nervously.

Freddie laughs, “pretty and a sap. We’re very lucky.”

John shakes his head and captures Brian’s lips in a messy kiss. He tugs on Brian’s bottom lip as he pulls away and then almost immediately is drawn back this time adding tongue. Brian sinks back against Freddie letting John have his way with him. This time when John pulls away Roger takes his place immediately.

Roger isn’t as polite as John, taking control of the kiss automatically instead of letting Brian give him control. He feels John’s hands hover over his prick. Brian pulls away and looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes. John bends down and sucks marks into his thigh, his hands going back around his hips steadying him.

“I feel like I’m a piece of furniture.”

John pulls away, “we need to change positions anyway, I think.”

Brian whines as the touches on his skin stop.

“Bri, turn around, hang onto Freddie,” John orders.

He finds himself responding as quickly as he can. The water slowing his movements a little and the lack of space that they have between them. Roger moves out of the way and Brian can get his legs around Freddie’s torso. Freddie smiles.

“Hello, beautiful.”

He flushes.

John’s hands are on his back again, rubbing his thumbs along his spine.

“Rog, can you get the second bottle?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Roger guides Brian’s face to his with his hair. They share a messy and quick kiss.

“For luck.”

“You’re going to be a few meters away.”

“And that’s the unlucky bit.”

Brian rolls his eyes but then Freddie is guiding him back. They kiss languidly as John’s hands skim down his body, teasing his lower back, but not dropping any further. He pushes his hips back which makes both hiss. Freddie rolls towards him, and he blinks in surprise when he feels something poke the back of his thigh.

He looks down through the water and sees Freddie standing mostly erect. John tugs him back and he gasps when he feels John’s prick rub against his ass.

“That’s it,” John mumbles.

“You sound so pretty for us.”

Brian whines when Freddie lets him drop slightly against John as he reaches through the water and skims his thumb over Brian’s head. His nail barely catching the skin. He bucks up which makes Freddie groan.

“There you are, lovely.”

He turns to see Roger and John sharing an intense kiss. John is holding a purple crystal vial the same as the one they used previously.

“This one is unscented,” John mumbles when they break apart.

They go back to each other. Roger tugging on John’s hair, and it is a surprisingly aggressive kiss. Freddie’s fingers wrap around his jaw and bring him back.

“I’m feeling left out.”

Brian smiles sheepishly and tilts his head back. Freddie noses at the exposed skin before sucking a mark into it lightly. He hums and rolls his hips again because that seemed to get the most reaction from them. His perch is a little precarious with John fully distracted by Roger and Freddie only holding his lower back.

It makes him feel like he is on the edge of something. Feeling brave, he reaches through the water and gently wraps around Freddie’s prick. Freddie moans in approval. Brian runs his hand down the shaft slowly, but when Freddie makes no move to stop him, he increases his pace.

The kissing noises behind him stop.

“That’s it, Brimi, just like that,” Freddie presses his forehead to Brian’s shoulder, “when you get to the base, squeeze.”

He can’t reach the base but at the edge of his range, he pumps twice, which makes Freddie buck up into his thigh.

John places a kiss on his neck, “you’re doing so well.”

Brian turns his head slightly. Freddie complains about hair getting in his mouth.

“You haven’t done anything yet,” Brian says.

John kisses the cheeky smile off his face.

“I want to,” John hums, “you ready?”

“Yeah.”

He hears the quiet pop of the cork. Brian tries to turn around, but Freddie keeps him focused on him. Kissing his face in teasingly light kisses. Brian jumps when he feels one of John’s fingers skim along his hole.

“Shh, shh,” Freddie coos, “we’ve got you.”

Roger reaches up and pushes Brian’s head to the crook of Freddie’s neck. He mouths at the skin there, trying to distract himself. When Roger’s hands (the callused hands are drummer’s calluses) reaches between them and tugs on him, he jumps.

“We’re going to make you feel really good,” Freddie says softly, “I promise.”

Roger mouths at a spot on his bicep, “we just have to get over this little patch of awkwardness okay?”

Brian nods. He rests his head on Freddie’s shoulders and looks at Roger. Freddie leans over him and Roger eagerly responds to his kiss. One hand is twisting around his prick, but the other is messing up Freddie’s hair. He nearly forgets about John because of the beautiful sight in front of him. The bassist leans forward.

“Ready, baby?”

He shudders at the nickname, “uh-huh.”

“Words, dove,” Freddie breaks the kiss.

Roger moves to his neck instead. Brian watches as he licks up a bead of water and swallows thickly. What had Freddie wanted of him? Words. Yeah.

“Yes. Please, John. Yes.”

John chuckles and the vibrations rumble through Brian’s chest.

“Stay relaxed just like that okay, baby?”

Brian nods again.

The first bit of pressure has him rocketing from Freddie and twisting away in surprise. John backs off and Brian looks away deep red. He had known that this was going to happen. Why had he reacted like that? Roger’s hand is off his dick and carding through his hair. He closes his eyes tightly.

“No, no,” Roger coos, “it’s okay. You’re fine, we’ll just keep telling what we’re doing. Yeah?”

Brian nods, trying to will away the red in his face. Roger keeps petting his hair and Freddie is rubbing circles on his shoulders. John hasn’t touched him again. That is something he doesn’t like.

“John, touch me please.”

“Just waiting for the okay,” he presses a quick kiss to one of the knobs of Brian’s spine.

He slowly works his hands lower. Whispering praise into Brian as he does. Roger and Freddie are back to kissing each other, Roger’s knuckles brushing against him as he jerks Freddie off. Each sensation teasing and not enough Brian whines and rolls his hips back towards John.

“Please.”

John’s hands move back towards his ass. One hand kneading the soft flesh and the other again brushing against his hole. Brian breathes through his nose; the sensation still feels weird but in a good way.

“Alright, I’m going to push a finger in.”

This time when he feels the pressure, he doesn’t move away. It still feels awkward. There is a tiny edge of pain, but it doesn’t’ hurt? He focuses on sucking a hickey onto Freddie’s shoulder. John must be only halfway in. Brian hums in confusion. John’s hand is reaching around towards his prick, carefully twisting. Brian sighs.

“There we are, you were fighting me, love.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

The finger eases in more the closer John pushes him to orgasm, it builds in his lower belly. Just before he falls off the edge he feels a second finger, but John hasn’t pushed it in yet.

“Going to add two.”

“Wait, switch with me Roger,” Freddie pants, “getting a little tired.”

Roger nods. Brian lets himself be manhandled between his boyfriends. Freddie peppers kisses on the limbs they detangle. Roger must lean back for John to still to get a good angle, but it looks like Roger is mostly floating, with only his toes on the pool ground.

“We’re probably going to have to move to a shallower part,” Roger says, “otherwise it’s going to be less fucking and more trying to not drown.”

Freddie wiggles his eyebrows, winking at Brian in the process, “sounds like a new kink.”

“No,” John says sharply.

“Just back up while I do this.”

Roger nods. Brian closes his eyes when he feels the second finger enter. This one is stretching more, yes, but there isn’t any of the pain or oddness attached to it. He wouldn’t say he likes it, then John scissors his fingers. Brian arches off Roger with a howl. After that, the pace is brutal, John curling and stretching with practiced fingers.

His orgasm washes over him, clouding the water white. He blinks. John had slipped a third finger inside of him and he groans, the digits already working him back up to full hardness. It will take him a while to recover, but he imagines that it was John’s plan. Freddie stirs the water and clears the milky substance away. He kisses Brian on the cheek.

John kisses the tip of his ear, “are you ready love?”

Brian turns his head, trying to push his thoughts through the post-orgasm haze. Once he connects the question to John’s slowing fingers he nods. Roger gently nudges his legs free and Brian reluctantly drops them as John pulls out.

“I want you to prop yourself up on the ledge,” John whispers.

“Can I face you?”

There is a second of hesitation before John answers, “I think we can do it that way.”

He turns around and faces John for what seems like the first time in forever. John has a trace blush on the corner of his cheeks and his pupils are blown wide with pleasure. Brian shifts away, bumping into the ledge now that Roger is pinning Freddie to the ledge and sucking on his neck. Brian sinks down so that only his shoulders are keeping him up and he locks his legs around John’s hip drawing him closer.

John kisses a trail from his sternum to his lips. Brian responds lowly to John, letting the younger man lead the way in this. One hand slips from his hip to his back and pushes him forward, John’s second hand pumps his dick twice.

“Ready?”

“Get on with it,” Brian whines.

He startles when he feels John’s head nudge his entrance. Brian kisses John once he relaxes, it makes John pepper his face with kisses as he pushes in.

“No, don’t tighten up, baby, there you go. That’s it.”

Brian throws his head back when John bottoms out. He wraps his legs tighter around John and squeezes. He has never felt so full before, and it borders just on the edge of uncomfortable.

“Roger! Toss me the oil!”

“It’s on the shore,” Roger pants.

He turns his head to see that Roger is sitting on the ledge with Freddie’s head between his legs. Brian swallows as he watches Freddie lift all the way up, and then go back down so that his nose is pressed right on Roger’s stomach. John reaches around him and drops a generous amount of oil onto his hands.

“Sorry, thought I had enough,” John says.

Brian shrugs, it doesn’t hurt _too _badly. John reaches between them, pulling out slowly. He can feel John’s hand brush against his ass before he feels slick fingers work between him and around his hole. Brian sighs. He glances up to see John’s focused expression, and his dick takes that moment to inform him that it’s fully hard again.

Roger screams next to him. Brian watches as Roger falls bonelessly back against the grass. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are fully closed. There is drool pooling around the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck. Freddie.”

“Once you calm down, love,” Freddie purrs, “in the meantime, John? The oil?”

The hand around his back leaves to toss Freddie the vial. Brian watches entranced as Freddie slicks his fingers up and how Roger’s legs go wider once he sees what Freddie is doing. Roger winks at him.

“Do you like watching, Brimi?” John whispers.

His head is back against his hole, but he isn’t rocking forward. Brian nods.

“Or do you like it when you’re watched?” John adds with a little more edge, “Roger.”

Roger’s eyes snap over to them. Brian squirms as he realizes how heated the gaze is.

“Why don’t you tell Brimi what you see?”

He follows Roger’s pink tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip. Brian rocks against John.

“You’re beautiful,” Roger says, “all spread out and wanting. You’re so curious too. Watching annNd learning – fuck Freddie do that again!”

“Demanding for someone with fingers in their ass,” Freddie says.

Roger rolls his eyes, “can’t wait to see the face you make spread out over John’s cock.”

At that John starts entering him again. This time there is only pressure and the feeling of being full but no pain. Brian rocks down which pushes John in deeper, brushing against that spot he found with his fingers earlier. Brian gasps and repeats the motion.

“Fuck,” John says, “so eager, baby. Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please. Please.”

John doesn’t move for a few more moments and Brian rocks against him trying to urge him to move.

“I think you’re just using me as a dick,” John laughs.

Brian opens his mouth, but a moan is pushed out of him as John finally moves. Water splashes over his belly and the cold water makes his dick twitch. He rocks back when John starts to pull away, keeping him in. John uses one hand to grip his hips.

He stops moving. John grins, “you’re such a smart boy. A quick learner.”

Roger gasps. Brian turns back towards him. One of Roger’s legs is hooked fully over Freddie’s shoulder as the singer is now out of the water and it looks like three fingers deep. Roger tosses his head to the side and tilts his hips. Brian moans at the sight. Is that what he looked like?

“Bet we could teach you to suck a dick like the best of them,” John says as he picks up his pace, “you’d be perfect for us. Know how to please us and only us.”

Brian groans. He likes the idea of never having another but these three. It is more than enough for him. Brian moans. John shifts and then hits that spot with a hard thrust. Brian screams and arches up. John repeats that action, a furrow is between his brow and he bites his bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” Brian whines.

John leans down. It’s a messy kiss, more tongue than lips. John’s pace keeps steady and Brian falls back. He couldn’t stop the sounds tumbling from his chest even as he feels the flush creep down his chest at how much louder he is growing the closer he gets to his edge.

“God, dove, you sound so beautiful,” Freddie calls.

Brian doesn’t want to keep the sounds in after that.

“Ah,” John grins, “you like being our good boy, hm?”

Something clicks in his head and he nods fervently. John kisses his belly.

“Taking me so well, letting me take the lead, you’re doing wonderful baby boy.”

Brian whines and clenches as John picks up his pace again. He isn’t going to last much longer. John’s hand goes around his dick and tugs out of time with his thrusts.

A few seconds later he is tumbling off the edge for the second time. His voice feels raw with how loudly he shouts as he comes down. Brian twists his head to look at Roger who still has Freddie’s fingers in him and his own hand around his cock.

“Fuck, Brian,” Roger moans.

Their eyes meet. Brian knows he must look some kind of way because Roger’s jaw drops open. Brian smiles and whines as John starts thrusting again. He wonders if it is _almost _too much, but he loves the feeling.

John grabs a handful of hair and forces him up into a heated kiss. He pulls away and kisses down Brian’s neck, biting over his pulse point. A surge of heat settles in his belly at the possessiveness he feels from John. They kiss again and John’s rhythm breaks for the first time. Brian grimaces at first at the feeling of his insides being wet and sticky but quickly grows to like the feeling. Especially when John pulls out.

“Let’s clean you up hm?”

Brian is too boneless to do much else but wrap around John as they go back deeper into the pond. John spends a few seconds washing away the mess on his belly. They share a few quick kisses, Roger’s gasps and Freddie’s laughs form a peaceful backing track.

“How do you feel?”

“Good,” Brian slurs, “floaty.”

John kisses the tip of his nose, “do you want to be done?”

Brian shakes his head.

“Okay.”

They move back to the shore. John maneuvers him so that his chest is pressed against the ledge.

“Freddie stop teasing Roger.”

“Thank you,” Roger rushes out.

It almost sounds like he is drunk.

“Roger, fuck Brian.”

He groans and spreads his legs out further the best he can in the water. Brian arches his neck so he can watch Roger scramble into the water and behind him. Roger rubs his hands over Brian’s ass, playing with the flesh and mouthing at the knobs.

“Ready, Birdie?”

“Yes,” he pants.

Roger is different from John because while John had been teasingly slow and careful Roger is quick. He moans weakly at how quickly Roger fills him. Hands rub up and down his back.

“So perfect,” Roger says, “for us. Just letting us do whatever we want. God. You’re tight.”

Brian grins. He uses his arms as a pillow and watches John and Freddie make out on the ledge. John is underneath Freddie, but still dominating the kiss. Freddie is running his hands through John’s hair. They’re giggling too.

“Move,” Brian pushes back as best he can.

“Got it,” Roger nips him on top of his spine.

The pace is brutal, more speed than deepness. His chest scrapes along the ground and his dick gives a valiant attempt to get up again. Roger tires from the pace, panting heavily. Brian squirms away from what he assumes is Roger’s hair ticking along his back. Roger stops for a second before going deeper with his thrusts, they’re much slower, but each thrust it punctuated with a bite somewhere on his back. They’re gathered mostly in the center of his back.

Freddie has John fully on his back now. They’re still kissing, clearly not interested in taking it further. Roger’s hand coasts down his side and grabs his half-hard dick. Brian gives a whine less out of pleasure and more out of oversensitivity. Roger lets it go and pulls Brian away from the ledge slightly. His hand starts tweaking a nipple.

“God. Brian.”

“Roger,” he whines.

Roger changes his angle and hits the spot that John had been so adept at finding. Brian yells, his voice starting to feel rough. Roger soothes him and thumbs against a nipple before he just cups the muscle. He massages it gently.

Brian tries to rock in time with Roger’s thrusts. It’s slow enough that thinks that he manages it well.

“You’re so quick,” Roger gasps, “such a good boy.”

He keens and pushes back again, and this time tightens. It’s enough for Roger to tip over and spill into him. His forehead pressed against Brian’s spine. He mouths at Brian’s skin for a few moments as he catches his breath.

“You’re going to kill me, and it’s going to be in the best way.”

Brian laughs, “then who will fuck me?”

Roger chokes, “oh no, we’ve created a monster.”

“I’m not complaining,” Freddie says.

He opens his eyes, unaware of when he closed them curious to see what kind of mess John and Freddie have gotten themselves into. John’s fingers are working into Freddie’s ass as Freddie leans against his bent knees.

“Want Freddie,” he slurs.

“Does that mean I have to get out of you?” Roger whines.

“There’s more than enough time for that later,” Freddie climbs off John.

He bites his lip. Brian already feels the twinge in his back and a slight rawness. Freddie fucking him…it might not be as pleasure able as the others. Roger pulls out of him and he gasps weekly, his brain does latch onto Roger’s idea of just staying in him after. It sounds nice.

Freddie sits in front of him and lifts his head. They share a quick kiss. Brian is far too fuzzy to be an active participant in the kiss. He sighs when Freddie breaks it. Thumbs stroke near his jaw.

“You want to try eating me out?”

Brian tilts his head. The words are familiar, but he doesn’t remember exactly what it means. He looks up at Freddie in excitement when he is finally able to pull the meaning out of the fog.

“May I?”

Twin snorts break through the haze. He turns his head to see John and Roger laying on top of each other. They’re watching eagerly. Brian’s dick springs back to life for the third time.

“We’ll worry about that in a bit,” Freddie says, his hand dropping to hover inches away.

Brian nods. Freddie strokes his hair before leaning back. He hooks his legs over Brian’s shoulder. Excitement stirs in his belly. The few magazines he was brave enough to buy all “discussed” this act, and he has always been eager to try it.

“I feel honored,” Freddie chuckles, “go on.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Brian bends down and swipes his tongue over Freddie’s slick hole. The oil leaves a the taste of perfume in his mouth, but it disappears after a few more swipes. Once it’s gone, he gets braver, sticking his tongue in Freddie’s hole and then pulling out and licking with the flat of his tongue. When he settles into that rhythm he goes deeper, curling his tongue before pulling away completely for air.

Brian sucks bruises onto Freddie’s thighs while he catches his breath, after only a few minutes he goes back to his task. He tilts his head and then to satisfy his own curiosity, he licks the area of skin between Freddie’s hole and his balls. Freddie cries out and digs his fingers into Brian’s hair.

“Fuck,” Freddie groans, “he’s a natural.”

Brian smiles at the praise.

“Just going to need a little more than that.”

Brian uses on hand to find Freddie’s dick and alternates his strokes with the swipes of his tongue. Freddie tugs on his curls only a few minutes later, coming with a loud shout. He pulls away as Freddie sits up. The kiss is so brutal that their teeth click together for a moment. Freddie eases up with a sigh.

“You’re incredible,” Freddie whispers, “we are truly lucky. Just look at them. They couldn’t keep their eyes off us.”

Brian rests his head on Freddie’s shoulders as he watches John and Roger paw at each other, their erections back in full. John catches his eye and pulls off Roger’s neck. His eyes linger on the red mark. How many of those does he have on him now?

“You were so eager,” John gasps.

Roger’s tongue swipes over John’s nipple. He must have a thing about them.

“Looked like you were a starving man.”

Brian blushes deeply. Freddie kisses the crown of his head.

“It was such a sight,” Roger says before pulling John’s mouth back to his.

They break apart after a second, “wanted to fuck you while you ate Freddie out. Drove me crazy.”

Freddie guides his gaze back by pulling his curls. Brian looks away because Freddie’s brown eyes are so full of awe and love that Brian can scarcely believe that this is real life.

“Switch me places Birdie,” Freddie says softly, “promise to make you feel good.”

Brian does as he is told hopping onto the shore. He shivers as the wind brushes past his water chilled-skin. Freddie’s hands settle on his hips. He winks before diving down on Brian, nearly to the base. He yells in surprise, his hands flying to Freddie’s hair. He twists his fingers in the strands but doesn’t push or pull Freddie nearer to him. Freddie swallows him deeper before pulling all the way off.

“Like that?”

He can only nod. Words escaping him now. Freddie’s lips wrap around the tip before he hollows his cheeks and sucks. Brian gasps and only doesn’t move due to Freddie’s hands on his hip.

The pattern repeats, Freddie going down to the base, using his tongue to flick against the vein there before pulling off and sucking on the head. Brian knows he’s going to blow his load if he looks down, so he turns his attention to his other partners.

They’re twisted together in a way that Brian has trouble identifying limbs for a moment, jerking each other off. Their pace is much slower now.

“You’re going to come first,” he hears John say.

“Yeah, just don’t look at Brian or you’ll lose.”

Freddie does _something _with his tongue and Brian’s jaw drops open in a silent scream. His voice is so raw that he can’t make any more noise. He catches John’s gaze looking at him, and true to Roger’s prediction, he ends up biting down on his free hand as white coats his and Roger’s stomach.

Roger swipes his pointer finger through the mess on his chest and sticks it in his mouth. Freddie sucks on his head again and Brian is falling back to the ground his vision whiting out as he comes the hardest he has in his life, for the third time on the same day.

His ears are full of cotton and his vision hazy as he stares at the blue expanse of sky. Brian closes his eyes for a moment and lets everything come back into focus. At least it does when Freddie lays on top of him.

After a few more minutes? Seconds? He doesn’t really know; he feels a second and quickly a third body wrap around him.

“We should go back,” Roger slurs, “nap in a bed, and not get caught out here.”

Brian nods, but he feels warm and he’s exhausted. Who knew sex was so tiring?

John nudges them, “let’s go.”

He whines loudly but finally sits up. His back twinges and he bites his cheek to keep from making a noise. Brian doesn’t trust his legs to hold him up. Freddie grins and wiggles his eyebrows before helping him up. It feels like his legs are made out of jelly, but he can walk.

“Well, that bath wasn’t successful,” Freddie grins, “I think we’re dirtier now.”

“Brian isn’t a pure unsullied virgin anymore,” Roger winks, “so I agree.”

“Hey!” He sticks his tongue out.

“We’ll do a proper shower after we nap,” John yawns, “and then maybe not until after dinner.”

He leans against John since the other two are taking so long to get dressed. John was sensible and hadn’t worn clothes that needed too much effort to put on, and Brian really doesn’t feel like buttoning his shirt. Even though he can see the tiny bite marks already starting to purple in the reflection of the pool.

Oh well. If anyone asks, he’ll say they’re mosquito bites.

* * *

Brian might have thought that finally starting to have sex would help with his sleeping problem. Certainly, he was as exhausted as he was well fucked but sleep still didn’t come to him. Brian sighs and pads around the living room of the cottage. He hears the creaking of the floor and looks up to see that it is Freddie standing in the hallway.

“Birdie,” Freddie sighs.

He rolls his eyes and then bites his cheek. _They’re just worried about you. _His mother had been too. Brian shakes his head, trying to force that thought out of his head. They hadn’t mentioned his slip since that day.

Instead, Brian moves to the couch and gestures for Freddie to climb in next to him. They bump knees a few times before getting settled. Two grown men should not fit on the couch like this, but here they are. Freddie reaches up and tugs on his curls.

“I do like it like this, you know.”

Brian hums, “it’s a bit of a mess.”

“I won’t judge you for that.”

Freddie smiles and Brian returns it. He watches Freddie’s eyes start to drop and he wonders how sleep can always come so easily to the singer. To anyone really. It is possible for him, but it always feels like the stars must be in alignment. Brian shifts and pulls the knitted throw over them.

The yarn is dry and scratchy, and it smells vaguely of… he doesn’t quite know how to describe it other than old. Brian starts counting the threads in the tassels that he can feel with his finger almost getting up to seventy before Freddie stirs and pulls his fingers away. Brian pouts and reminds himself to finish the task later.

“What’s keeping you up darling?”

“Not sure,” Brian shrugs, “doesn’t matter.”

Freddie scratches his head. Brian sighs and relaxes into the sensation.

“What were you talking about, when you mentioned the hospital?”

Brian’s eyes shoot open, “I – the. It was nothing. I was confused.”

Freddie clicks his tongue. Brian bites his. He doesn’t want to tell them. He doesn’t want to _think _about that year.

“It meant something to you. You were terrified.”

“Drop it, Fred, please.”

“If it bothers you that much, I want to know.”

Brian tightens his jaw, “and I don’t want to talk about it. Ever. Not once. It doesn’t matter.”

He can see how Freddie’s eyes flash with hurt. It makes him feel guilty, but he shoves it down underneath the bubbling anger. Freddie doesn’t get to feel hurt when Brian made it clear that he doesn’t want to share.

“We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

Brian pushes off the couch, “don’t use our relationship like this. I don’t want to talk about it, and you _really _don’t need to know.”

Freddie rubs his shoulder. Brian must’ve knocked against it when he was climbing off the couch.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, “Fred, please just let it go.”

He sees Freddie straighten up. Instead of going around in a pointless circle Brian starts to leave the room. If he stays, he knows that he will cave and talk about it. He can’t. Freddie calls after him but he keeps moving to one of the spare bedrooms. It has been cleaned out and freshened, Brian, wanting a spot to go to if his nightmares started up again.

Out of a moment of pettiness, he locks the door behind him before climbing into the bed. The duvet makes the room that much darker. He reaches down and rolls the sun charm between his forefinger and thumb. The tiny points press into his skin.

There were probably better ways to handle it. Freddie cares. He knows that, but it always feels like he can’t have anything to himself. It might make him “unsafe.” Brian gets the protectiveness to some extent; he _knows _that when he has a hallucination there’s a chance that he will injure himself or be too out of it to react to anything that could harm him.

Hell, he has nearly set the kitchen on fire because he has had one while making a meal. Not that he told them about _that_ incident.

It doesn’t surprise him. Most of the time he is grateful, but they seem to forget he _is _an adult he gets to have privacy. Even if he has been stripped naked by them in the most literal sense of the word.

Brian runs a hand down his face. The duvet smells stale and he pops his head out of the covers. The room smells musty. He wrinkles his nose and stands to open a window. When the panes don’t budge, he frowns. Well, now he _wants _fresh air. The room feels too tight.

He grabs the wool poncho he left in this room and steps over the squeaky floorboard. Freddie must have returned to bed. Brian shrugs and picks up his clogs from where he discarded them at the end of the couch. He also returns Roger’s boots to the spot by the front door.

The night is warm but not humid. Brian knows he probably won’t need the poncho, but looking up to the sky, he can tell that it will rain sometime in the early hours of the morning. He might end up staying out that long, the stars look beautiful tonight.

Brian slips on his clogs and begins walking towards the hill they had been on a few nights previously. John had shown it to him because of the amazing view it gave over the shores of Brighton, just out of the range of the light pollution. He slings the poncho over his shoulders.

Random melodies come to him as he walks. They’re aggressively sad and he keeps the good ones and plays with them. There is a good amount of angst in them that could make amazing songs in the future. Brian rolls his eyes, then he will face an endless stream of questions about how he is doing.

He steps lightly over the creek and shivers as the wind picks up. Brian moves quickly and then tugs on the poncho when the wind doesn’t stop. The storm must be moving in quicker than he thought. It would be a shame if he came this entire way only to be rained on and not see the stars. He practically jogs up the hill. When he tilts his head back to stare, he sees that the clouds are still the same distance away.

The wind gets more intense. He tucks his hair behind his ears to keep it from slapping him in the face. Brian bites his lip. He feels a sense of dread crawl into his lungs. A branch breaks and he turns around and doesn’t see anything. Heavy breathing rattles in his ears.

Brian turns around and comes face to face with pale white. He yells, but something tightens around his throat and pulls his head backward, killing the sound. The shadow’s mouth opens revealing a much too long tongue and yellowing fangs. Its breath smells like rotten eggs.

Like before it seems to struggle to touch him. Brian shoves the memory of its claws raking down his arms before it touches him. It caresses his face, nails digging like icicles before it scratches down towards his chest.

The pressure on his neck disappears but he can’t get any breath into him. He looks down, and almost as though it is in slow motion. Its hand presses into his chest. He feels something tighten around his heart and squeezing it. His lungs feel compressed. He gasps, the scream getting caught by the shadow.

It pulls the hand from him. Brian grabs at his chest, it feels whole. He looks up to the shadow, its claws being licked at by its tongue.

** _SoOn. _ **

Brian drops to the ground. Whatever was holding him up wisps away with the disappearance of the shadow. Brian grips at his throat and then his chest again. He pulls one hand away. It is clean. Then he tugs the shirt out and sees that there is no damage or stains.

Claws crawl down his back. The little air that he managed to salvage falls from his lungs, and he is left gasping. Brian digs his hands into the grass, feeling the dampness between his fingers. He twists and pulls, and the grass comes free. Still, he can’t get air in.

The ground blurs in front of him. Brian reaches out to catch himself from falling. There is a dark edge to his vision, but finally, his lungs spasm to life. He gasps and takes in large gulps of air. Brian manages to get his breathing under control. The spot on his chest feels like its empty. He rubs at it.

_Hold him down._

No. Brian shakes his head. Tosses his arms to stop whoever is pinning them.

_The syringe._

Brian twists his back arching it forward. He feels a pinch in his neck, and he drops forward. He waits for the overwhelming blackness, but it doesn’t come. His breathing slows down and the ringing in his ears, which he hadn’t been aware of until now quiets. The blurriness of his vision snaps back into clarity.

His body trembles. Brian’s muscles feel so tight that he can’t move. It is like he has run a triathlon and gotten stuck on the swimming portion. He watches the grass sway in the wind. The lapping of waves overcomes the sound of the gentle rustle of leaves and the rest of the phantom limbs are shaken off.

Brian sits back and stares at the stars. They’re fainter now, and when he looks back, he sees that the sky is beginning to lighten. There is no way it had been that long since he left the cottage. He forces himself to stand and his calves jump with the strain.

He tugs a hand through his curls. They’re tangled from the wind. Brian stares out at the shore and tugs the poncho around him. It’s covered with early morning dew. It is still hard to think about how much time he just lost. The entire thing felt like it was only minutes and not hours.

It scares him. A lot more than he is willing to admit. What would happen to him if it was during class or when he wasn’t alone?

Brian bites his cheeks and hugs himself. The only thing that he can do call his doctor and get back on medication. He doesn’t want to; it makes him feel weird. But a night like this can’t happen again. It legitimately felt like he was dying, and maybe next time it’ll happen in a less safe area.

The walk back to the cottage is quiet. Brian has worried his bottom lip so much that it has started to bleed. He looks toward the door and doesn’t hear that anyone is up yet. John is usually up with the sun, or at least he wakes up but goes back asleep. Freddie hopefully didn’t wake up again.

Brian sighs. As much as he doesn’t want to, he makes a mental note to call his doctor when they get back into town. The decision settles heavily in his stomach and stays on the porch rather than going into the house. He holds his face in his hands but removes them when he hears the door open.

Freddie smiles at him sheepishly. Brian mentally prepares himself for another fight. He opens his mouth, but Freddie sits next to him and leans against his shoulder.

“Morning, Birdie.”

Brian smiles, “good morning, Freddie.”

The terror of the night ebbs away with the brightness of the morning.

* * *

“Mr. May,” Doctor Johnson holds out his hand.

Brian shakes it. The years have been kind to the doctor, the blond hair just starting to fade to white and only a few lines around his eyes show his age. He wears glasses now. The room still makes Brian feel like he is fifteen.

“It’s been a long time,” Doctor Johnson drops into a chair.

“Yeah, it has,” Brian says quietly

“And it looks like you’ve stopped therapy and the medication?”

Brian bobs his head, “I didn’t like how it made me feel, the medicine. And the therapist seemed confident that I could go off to Uni.”

Doctor Johnson writes something down, “and what are you studying?”

“To be an astrophysicist.”

“Clever.”

Brian swings his legs but stops them. He doesn’t need to look like a fifteen-year-old on top of everything else. It feels bad enough that he is here after four years of not being here.

“So, your hallucinations are increasing again?”

“They’re getting aggressive,” Brian says, “and nearly always trigger a panic attack.”

“Hm, and before now? When would you say this started up?”

“December is the first bad one. They’ve been getting more frequent since then, and before then they weren’t happening. Before _that, _they only existed.”

“They don’t exist.”

Brian tries hard to not roll his eyes, “I meant that they didn’t try to interact with me.”

“Unusual.”

He winces.

“Well, I think we’ll try a higher dose this time, but only once a day. I’ll give you something to calm you down if you do feel like you’re going to have a panic attack.”

Brian tugs on hangnails while Doctor Johnson writes something. He looks around the room and the various diagrams of the human brain and nervous system. Brian crosses his legs and then uncrosses them.

“Here you are.”

He looks down at the prescriptions.

“Are you staying with anyone?”

“Yeah,” Brian says, “my bandmates. We’ve got a flat…”

Doctor Johnson nods, “let them know when you start, so they can monitor for any changes in behavior that are alarming. Maybe think about finding a new therapist too?”

_They aren’t going to know about this. _Brian thinks. They worry enough as is, he doesn’t need them questioning every time he forgets to do something. He has done this before; he knows how it affects him.

“Okay, I’m going to do a quick examination. Deep breaths.”

Brian follows the instructions. The doctor seems confident that everything else about him is healthy.

“Take it with food and water.”

Brian waves as he exits. He shuffles up to the receptionist.

“I need to schedule an appointment in a month?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said the next update probably won't be until the 19th, which I do feel bad about but then I'm on winter intermission for a month which means I should be able to get a good portion of this knocked out. I haven't had time to really get back ahead when I had like, five chapters pre-written.  
Housekeeping aside this should just be one being "uh-oh" with a dash of "please talk about your feelings." The good news is that they fuck?  
As always thanks so much for reading! Leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	7. When do stars die?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're live.  
Okay. Not really, but we're here a day ahead of schedule.  
But I won't hold you up for too much longer, so enjoy!

Brian manages to free himself from where Roger and Freddie have him pinned to the bed. John is out in a late lab. He grimaces when Freddie takes his space and wraps around Roger. They still haven’t talked about their argument at the cottage. Brian hadn’t thought they needed to.

Now it feels like Freddie is distant from him. They’re walking around each other on broken glass. Brian doesn’t know how to fix it without offering a part of him that he doesn’t want to give.

He steps quietly an into the room that is still “his” for all he doesn’t use it. He opens the dresser and roots through several shirts before he finds the tiny orangish-brown bottle. Brian grimaces and stuffs it into his pocket before walking towards the kitchen.

As he passes the phone, it rings. Brian stares at it for a moment before shaking his head and picking it up.

“May speaking.”

“Brian!” Ruth’s voice greets.

“Hey, mom, how are you?” Brian leans against the wall.

It feels like the pills are burning a hole through his pocket. He winces and grips the bottle with his free hand.

“I’ve been meaning to call but things have gotten a bit crazy here.”  
“Oh, I know how busy you are with school,” Ruth says lightly, “I just wish we could talk more.”

“Yeah.”

Brian feels the urge to tell her that it isn’t because of school. They’re finally back in the studio recording their second album. It's taking more hours than the previous one. Freddie wants to get this one right. It sounds incredible, but now they’re all nitpicking, save for John who breaks up the arguments.

“Tell me about your classes?”

He closes his eyes and turns to press his forehead against the wall. Brian squeezes the bottle tighter.

“They’re good. Interesting.”  
“And you’re acing them of course?”

Brian swallows, “yeah. No problems.”

Ruth starts rattling off about how proud she is that he is so clever and such a bright boy and that she always knew. Brian leans fully against the wall. His throat tightens and he wants to just yell.

“I’m thinking about dropping out.”

He turns and presses his back against the wall, on hand cupping his forehead. Brian hadn’t meant to say that. His tongue feels gummy in his suddenly dry mouth. Maybe his mother hadn’t heard him?  
“What did you say?”

She’s giving him an out all he needs to do is take it, “I’m thinking about dropping out and focusing on the band full time.”

The words sting on their way out, but he feels lighter.

“Why on earth would you throw away your future like this?”

“I’m not throwing my future away. I can pick up my doctorate at any time.”

“It’s a band, Brian. Harold! Pick up the other line!”

He hears the click and then his father’s deep voice speaks, “yes?”

“Brian says he wants to drop out to play around with his band.”

“Brian?”

“That’s what I want. I don’t have to listen to you,” Brian winces, “sorry, but the band. I want this to work and I can’t be split between two things.”

“It’s late,” Ruth says, “I’ll call in the morning.”

“Brian, this band thing isn’t going to work out.”

“Goodnight, father.”

He hangs up. His hands tremble and tears build behind his eyes. Not that he expected his parents to completely support his choice, but he thought that they might be somewhat understanding. They know how much music means to him; how much it helps him.

Clearly not enough. Brian wanders into the kitchen and fills up a glass with water. He pops one of the pills into his mouth and swallows it and leans against the counter. Brian’s head is still buzzing from the conversation. Part of him is still in shock that he was blunt and curt with his parents. It isn’t going to go over well. He imagines he will get a call first thing tomorrow from his father.

He looks back towards the bedroom and then to the clock. They’ve slept through dinner and haven’t eaten since lunch. Brian grabs his wallet as well as the spare cash they leave out and starts heading to the nearest convenience store to grab a meal for them. Before he reaches the door, he pauses. Should he leave a note?

It is the polite thing to do. Brian bites his cheek but on the same hand, he is an adult free to leave the flat at any time. He shakes his head, why is he having such a crisis about this? Brian turns around and grabs the pad by the door.

_Grabbing dinner. Be back shortly. – Bri._

He slips on his clogs and hurries from the flat. The convenience store is still a thirty-minute walk, or at least the one he wants to go to is. Brian smiles at their neighbors, the woman bouncing a baby on her hip while her husband struggles to get the stroller into the trunk.

There are a few people that don’t look quite right and Brian looks down towards the ground. His thoughts are beginning to turn fuzzy with the effect of the medicine, and he yawns as the drowsiness waves become larger. He starts counting his steps and then once he gets to one hundred starts counting back down. This pattern continues until he stops and looks around.

The area is familiar to him, but it is about fifteen minutes past the store that he was going to enter. Brian sighs and rubs his hands down his face. He should have expected this.

As he turns around to head back to the store something hits his side and warmth seeps through his t-shirt, nearly burning him. Brian looks down to see a woman picking herself up from the ground and a coffee cup rolling into the street. He kneels and offers her hand. She looks up, her amber eyes glinting.

He has seen her before, but he can’t quite place it.

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“It’s quite alright, I shouldn’t have stopped in the middle of a sidewalk.”  
She takes his hand and stands. Her stockings have a run up her thigh. The woman sighs and tries to shove the wrinkles out of her clothes.

“Good thing I was going home from work,” she laughs, “oh! Your shirt!”

Brian looks down to see where the white fabric is seeping with tan. He grimaces and hopes that he can salvage some of it. Maybe he’ll donate it to be Freddie’s new painting shirt. He rubs at it.

“Goodness,” she murmurs, “I feel so bad. Let me pay for it?”

“No, no,” Brian shakes his head, “this is an old shirt, I wouldn’t be able to tell you how much it was.”

The woman bites her lip, “let me try to get the stain out? There is a department store, I’ll buy a new one.”  
“It isn’t necessary,” Brian rubs the back of his head.

“Please?” She bats her amber eyes.

Brian flushes. The woman is pretty, with white-blonde hair framing her face with a gentle wave. If he hadn’t met his bandmates, then he’d be confident in saying she’s the prettiest person he has ever met.

“Er,” Brian finds himself nodding.

Then following as they head into the department store.

“I’m Sylvi, by the way.”

“Brian.”

She winks, “you look like a Brian.”

He coughs, “I’m not – I’m – Have a relationship.”

“Oh, my apologies then. Guess it makes sense a handsome man like yourself.”

Brian doesn’t respond but he grabs the cheapest button-up he can find that would fit him well enough. Sylvi seems to get the hint and backs off thankfully. He smiles at her as they check out.

“I’ll get this one to you as soon as I can,” she says, “ah, may I have your address?”  
He scribbles it down on a sheet of paper she pulls out of her purse. Brian writes his phone number down for good measure.

“One of my flat mates should be able to get it if I’m not there,” he says.

“Oh, I’d hate to bother them, I’ll leave it on your porch.”

Brian nods and then stares out into the street before heading in the direction he came from. He shakes his head, Sylvi is probably just an overly nice woman. He flushes again, an overly nice woman who was flirting with him, he thinks she was at least. Maybe she hadn’t believed that he was in a relationship?

His mind starts counting the steps again, and by the time he snaps back into reality he is back at the flat and climbing the steps.

“Bri!” John greets as he enters, “where’s dinner?”

Brian blinks, “shit.”

John snorts, but concern worms its way into his gray eyes. Brian shakes his head.

“Someone ran into me and spilled coffee on my shirt, so I had to deal with that and then I kind of. Forgot?”

Roger chuckles as he walks from the living room, “we were depending on you to feed us, Bri!”

“I’ll cook?” Brian pulls off his clogs, “we shouldn’t be eating out anyway, Freddie just bought all those new vegetables.”

“We’re having rice again?” Roger wrinkles his nose, “can you season it this time?”

Brian sticks his tongue out, “I’ll see if I can manage, your highness.”

Roger mirrors the action. Freddie drapes over Roger’s back. His hair still bunched up from where he slept on it. He blows Brian a kiss, “who knew what he was going to buy anyway. Something healthy?”

“You do need veg, Freddie, they’re not just nice to watch rot.”

“That was one time!”

“It was a waste of money!”

Freddie rolls his eyes and then whispers something to Roger who giggles. Brian raises an eyebrow and glances at John who raises his hands and steps back into the kitchen. He pushes past the two giggling messes and John tugs him into a hug. They kiss gently.

“Welcome home, even if you forgot the food.”

“Har har,” Brian rolls his eyes, stealing another chaste kiss, “I’m starting to think I’m just a meal provider.”

John wiggles his eyebrows. Brian laughs and gently nudges his arms.

“Not like that.”

“Not my fault you said it like that,” John brushes his hair back and nuzzles his jaw, “but maybe we can delay cooking dinner?”

Brian hums, “so long as I don’t have to do any work since I’m cooking after all.”

“Mm, you never have to do any work.”

He shrugs, “can’t help that.”  
John kisses him and then slowly backs him into a wall. Brian returns the kiss but allows John full control of it. He sighs as he wraps his arms around John’s neck. John presses his legs in between his. He doesn’t move, and John’s pace seems to slow considerably.

The tiredness he was feeling earlier ebbs away. He tilts his head to let John have access to his neck. John nips and sucks at it, not bruising. The featherlight sensations drive him mad and he ends up making a loud groan in frustration and tilting his hips forward. Roger and Freddie pop into the room. Roger’s shirt is bunched together as though he and Freddie were making out in the hallway.

He grins and bats his eyes.

“Oh, this is much better than dinner,” Roger grins.

Freddie beats him to Brian though. Their kiss is gentle, and much more of a give and take. He hums as Freddie cards his hand through Brian’s hair. He feels John shift and then another set of lips are on the back of his neck. Roger then. He feels the swipe of tongue and he yelps.

“Warn a guy, Rog,” he pants.

Roger ignores his warning and seals their lips together. He hears Freddie and John greeting each other. Brian cants his hips again and this time he does feel the reaction from John. He grins into the kiss with Roger and then lets one of his canines catch on Roger’s lip as they break apart.

“Bed?” Freddie whispers.

Brian nods. Freddie reaches for him before pausing for a heartbeat, then grabs his wrist. Brian winces but pushes it to the side, suitably distracted when John swats his bum as they leave. They climb the steps slowly, each stopping when they get wrapped in each other. Freddie has him stopped on the top step when Roger’s frustration finally gets to the better of him.

“C’mon!”

John laughs and tugs on Roger’s ear. They hurry to the bedroom after that. Brian tossing his shirt to the far end of the room before Roger manages to get his fingers on his belt loops and pulls him back so their hips are flush. He feels Roger’s hardness press into him. He moans happily.

“Bed?” Freddie reminds.

Roger walks him back before they fall onto it. His breath leaves him in a soft oof. John hovers next to him while Roger starts darkening the marks left by John. He feels hands undo his pants and then his jeans are being pulled down. Freddie peaks out behind Roger with a cheeky wink.

He lifts his hips when John snaps the band of his boxers.

“You have to lose more clothes before that,” Brian warns.

Freddie climbs onto the bed next to him and places wet and sloppy kisses on his cheeks. Roger is the first to get his shirt off, John only a few seconds behind him. Freddie sensually undoes his buttons but when Roger wolf whistles they fall into a pile of giggles.

“Way to kill the mood,” John laughs.

Roger pouts but slips his hands underneath Brian’s boxers and teases his prick. His breathy sigh brings the mood right back into place. He spreads his hips further apart and wraps his arms around Roger’s neck to pull him closer to kiss messily. Roger pulls back and kisses the tip of his nose.

“What do you want us to do baby?”

Brian hums as Freddie’s fingers skim down his side. What does he want? He turns his head when John demands a kiss but pulls away.

“Mm,” he groans, “John’s fingers.”

“Okay.”

Roger rolls off him as John replaces him. The underwear gets tossed and John kisses his thighs. He watches Freddie hand John the lube. The lid _snicks _open. John rubs his hands together and then caresses the space between his dick and hole. Brian whines and rolls his hips. John laughs and then presses his first finger in and teasing and pulling out. He repeats this action, only going to the first knuckle. His other hand strokes Brian’s thigh. John grins as Brian pushes down and follows him.

John takes pity on him and pushes into the third knuckle and then pulls out. Brian gasps and then John curls his finger and Brian arches. Freddie leans down and swallows his moans. John twists his finger and brushes against the spot again. Freddie digs his fingers into Brian’s scalp. The pressure makes him gasp and Freddie pushes his tongue in. Freddie pulls back and peppers his face with kisses.

“Look at you, pretty bird.”

“John, c’mon.”

He feels John press a second finger in. The pain is just right, and he rolls his hips again, managing to nail his prostate. He screams. After that John sets to a much more rapid pace. Roger is sucking and biting whatever skin of Brian’s neck he can reach, and Freddie is kissing over the marks from a few days ago. Brian closes his eyes too overwhelmed from the pleasure but wanting to take in every sensation.

Before he can complain to John about getting a move on, Freddie is once more kissing him. His hand is firm in his hair keeps Brian malleable in his grip. John pulls away and adds more lube before easing the third finger in, Brian stops rolling his hips at John’s hand. The burn feels nice, but Brian knows John is easily worried.

“That’s it, that’s our good boy,” John murmurs.

Brian pulls away from Freddie enough to offer John a dopey grin. John’s thumb rubs his hip.

“Who do you want?”

He pouts when he realizes that means he isn’t getting all three, but it's fair. They really should have dinner before falling asleep. Brian looks around and bites his lip.

“Can I ride you, Freddie?”

“I thought you wanted to be lazy,” John leans down and kisses his stomach.

Brian shrugs. Now that the idea is in his head, he desperately wants to. Maybe this will fix whatever balance is wrong between them. He glances at Freddie who is staring at him with warm eyes. Brian reaches up for him.

Freddie kisses him sweetly. Not much of a change from the other kisses but this one feels different. John moves away from him and over to Roger who immediately pushes John to the bed and straddles him. They kiss messily before John flips him over.

He nudges against Freddie before he gets the hint and lays back. Freddie pauses him for a moment.

“Do you want me to put a condom on?”

Brian bites his cheek and things about it, then he nods slowly. John tosses a packet towards them, having gotten one out for Roger. Freddie tears open the package and spends only a few seconds properly rolling it on. He climbs on top of Freddie.

For a moment nerves make him pause. He has only done this a few times before. Roger and Freddie coaching him as he bounced on top of John, but now it looks like Roger is going to be too distracted by John (judging by those breathy moans) and Freddie is the one he is riding.

“Bri?” Freddie asks.

“Sorry,” Brian says, “in my head.”

Freddie hums.

“Take your time,” he says.

Brian hesitates and then inhales before he nods at Freddie. It takes a second of maneuvering but then he is being guided down Freddie’s length. He can already feel the twinge in his thighs from the position, but it isn’t as bad as last time. Once Freddie is fully seated, Brian takes a moment to play with Freddie’s chest hair.

Freddie does slight aborted thrusts and Brian is grateful for the sensation. He lifts Freddie’s hand to his lips and kisses it before rolling his hips once. He starts slowly moving up and down. Freddie keeping his hands around his hips, guiding and steadying him.

The slow movement is more arousing than Brian would have thought. Before Roger and Freddie were coaching him to go fast and the right angles. Brian tilts his hips and keeps his pace slow. Each time he nails his prostate his cock jumps in excitement. He wants to speed up, but he wants to draw this out too.

Underneath him, Freddie is panting and smiling at him with a far too innocent expression. Brian cocks and eyebrow as he slides down.

“I love watching you,” Freddie says, “the way you take everything in. Experiment with feelings, sensations.”

Brian blushes and speeds up to the praise. Freddie squeezes his hips before he slows back down.

“Beautiful.”

He spares a glance at Roger and John who appear to be matching their pace for now. Roger whines and begs for John to go faster, but Brian laughs as he sees John seems to be doing anything but. Brian looks back at Freddie who has his head leaned back. Brian moves just a touch faster.

It makes Freddie return to those short aborted thrusts. Gradually he picks up his pace until Freddie’s grip on his hips is bruising (or would be if Freddie hadn’t mastered that sweet spot).

His thighs start to tremble, and Freddie takes over most of the work, pulling him down as he goes up. Brian’s sighs turn into groans and finally loud moans that rival even Roger’s squeals. He focuses more on raising himself up, but he sees Freddie’s lips move in a line of praise.

He comes covering his stomach and Freddie’s. The tips of his ears turn red. Usually, he is better about warning and knowing when he is going to come. Freddie simply grins and keeps the pace up.

Roger’s moans turn sharp. Brian looks through sweaty curls to see Roger starting to come down from his high while John casually fucks him through it. He licks his lips and focuses back on Freddie. His bottom lip is bitten, and Brian knows that it won’t take much longer before Freddie too is finished.

“Close, darling,” he breathes.

Brian nods and attempts to roll his hips. The movement is clumsy because he still feels a little boneless, but it either works or Freddie was already tipping over the edge, but he stops. Brian feels Freddie coming but doesn’t feel anything. Freddie rolls him over and slips out. He watches John and Roger for a few moments before John is panting out Roger’s name as his rhythm breaks.

John pulls out and Roger immediately wiggles to cuddle closer to Brian. He grins and wraps around Roger. Brian hears Freddie and John’s low voices.

He jumps when he feels a warm wrap wiping his face and neck and working his way lower.

“Sorry, love,” Freddie says.

Brian makes a noncommittal noise and buries his nose into Roger’s hair and falls asleep, warmth and safety surrounding him.

* * *

“So then I told my professor that he’d been calling the equations by their wrong names which is why everyone got them…” Sylvi trails off, “are you listening, Brian?”

Brian blinks and shakes his head trying to clear the fuzziness from it. There is some oddness pulling his gaze away from the wall which he had apparently been staring at for more than a couple of minutes. He rubs his eyes and looks back at Sylvi, then down to his plate which has a full bowl of soup and a clean spoon. His appetite fled him as soon as he sat down.

“I don’t know where my head is,” Brian replies.

Sylvi purses her lips but nods in understanding. Brian hasn’t quite figured out what is going on, but she offered to buy him lunch, once more for the trouble she caused with spilling the coffee. He only said yes because it feels like the only people, he has been around for months are his boys, his family, and his peers.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Brian shrugs.

“Well, I have to get going,” she smiles.

“Yeah, I need to get to my class.”

They both stand. Brian almost bumping into her. He flushes. She smiles kindly again and grabs his hand. Sylvi’s hands are unusually warm, and a tingle runs up his arm. His pendant heats up for a moment but as soon as their hands drop the pendant loses any of its temperature and he shakes his head.

“We should do this again. When you feel better of course.”

“Yeah, I think that’d be lovely,” Brian says tightly.

He doesn’t know if he will, the air has suddenly changed between them and he feels a tightness in his chest. Brian tilts his head, yeah, he has taken his medicine today.

“Well, thank you for your company, Brian.”

She leaves first and Brian spends a few moments collecting his materials. He still has an hour before his lecture, and he is in between his flat and the university. As he digs through his bag, he realizes that he left his notebook at home.

Cursing himself and his absent-mindedness Brian starts a brisk walk back to the flat. John should be the only one home at this time; Freddie and Roger are tending their stall, a pastime more than a job. He climbs up the steps, quickly and hoping that John had to step out for a moment.

John has started to grow suspicious of how often he is forgetting things or spacing out in conversation. Brian knows he can only blame it on the stress for so long before John calls it bullshit. He hopes that his body will adjust to the medication before then.

Brian sighs when he feels the door is unlocked. So someone is home. He steps inside and toes off his shoes before going in search of his notebook. Part of him is certain he left it on the kitchen table, but it might be on the desk in their bedroom.

“Brian?”

It takes him a moment to school his face from the wince before he turns around.

“Did you forget something,” John leans against the doorframe, “_again_?”

Brian bites his cheek, “I didn’t put my notebook in my bag last night. I have that class today.”

It isn’t an admission, but John doesn’t look impressed. He crosses his arms with a sigh.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Just peachy,” Brian grabs the notebook (which was on the table as he thought).

John hums.

Brian closes his bag again and steps beside John. John catches his wrist and he tenses before John leans in and gives him a quick kiss on the lips. He squeezes Brian’s wrist once before letting it go. He smiles and tucks a curl behind his ear before catching sight of the time.

“Shit, going to be late.”

“Go on then,” John grins, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Love you, see you tonight.”

Brian is halfway down the street before he realized what he said. Sure, there had been the pet names and the _idea _of it, but none of them had said it out loud. He rubs his chest as the panic sets in. It had been a reflex, but a reflex that he had meant. What was John thinking? Would he call Roger and Freddie? They’re dating, it’s to be expected. Brian raises his hand to scratch at his collarbone. Well, there’s nothing that he can do about it now. Maybe he can crash in his office?

That would be silly.

Brian grimaces.

He makes it to the lecture hall only three minutes past the start time, and the professor hadn’t gotten to his name for attendance. Brian quickly digs out the notebook and a pen answering with a brief “present” as he hears his name. He manages to get the date and subject down before the lecturer finishes roll and launches into the equations they will be studying today.

Brian watches the chalk move on the board, drawing out symbols and adding in constant numbers. The lecturer is quite good, and he rarely gets lost in the weeds but today, when the break was called Brian, looks down at his paper and sees that he has only managed to write the equations out.

_Shit._

“Hey, can I borrow your notes, I missed that last part.”

The student sitting next to him raises an eyebrow but slides the notebook over before he goes to join the boys hitting on the three girls in the class. Brian rolls his eyes. They haven’t had a chance with them all semester, today isn’t going to change things.

Thankfully the break lasts long enough that he can copy down most of the important bits. He hopes this will be enough to help him when he works on the homework later.

Brian is unsurprised to find that he has only written a few more lines after that when the lecturer dismisses class. He spends a few seconds staring at the notes and then looking to the board. He has no hope of figuring it out without the professor noticing him and guessing correctly that he spaced out.

At least the first part of the semester saved him from completely failing. With everything happening, maybe dropping out for the next semester might be good for him. One less thing to worry about, he can adjust his meds. Then he would be with the band nearly 24-7, which after this afternoon may not be his best idea.

God, he said _love you _to John. The first one. It hadn’t been special and certainly unremarkable and maybe they’re not even to that stage of affection yet. He places his head in his palms. His hands shake from hunger, but once more he finds that he isn’t hungry.

On top of everything, he is getting sick.

* * *

“Brimi,” Freddie calls once he steps through the door.

John is nowhere to be found and Brian doesn’t know if he is more relieved or terrified. He kicks off his shoes and drops his bag in the entryway before following the sound of Freddie’s voice (and the smell meaning that he’s cooking).

“Hello,” he smiles.

The air is still thick between them. Freddie smiles, but it looks tight and Brian curses himself.

“Where’s everyone?”

“Roger let me go early, he is closing the stall,” Freddie shrugs, “and John broke a string on his bass, and we didn’t have any spare ones lying around.”

“I see,” Brian hugs Freddie from behind.

Freddie melts into the contact as easily as ever, but Brian can’t see his face to see if it still follows the pattern of forced normalcy they’ve been faking since the trip to Brighton. He rests his chin on Freddie’s shoulder and stares into the simmering pot of he assumes at one point were carrots.

“What’re you making?”

“I was trying to make some sort of sweetened carrot and thought that mashing them would make it better,” Freddie says.

Brian kisses him on the neck. He wants to reassure Freddie that he is affectionate, that he is open about this but wants to keep one thing for himself. It might be bold to assume Freddie understands that, but Brian doesn’t know how else to do it besides talking. Which he has been proven to be terrible at.

“Birdie, where’d you go?”

“In my head,” Brian replies, “sorry.”

“Anyplace fun in there?”

“No.”

Freddie turns around, flicking the burner off and wrapping his arms around Brian’s neck. They brush noses in lieu of a kiss and scoot further away from the oven.

“Not any place fun and I’m right here?”

Brian laughs.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Just ready for a break.”

It's almost the truth.

“They work students far too hard, even John looks like he is going gray.”

“Makes him look distinguished.”

Freddie snorts and kisses his chin, “you’re distracting me. I’m trying to feed you.”

His stomach cramps and he rests more heavily on Freddie. Dinner is the last thing he wants.

“I like distracting you,” he says.

“Flatterer.”

Freddie allows them to sway in place for a few more minutes. The door opens and Brian steps away. It can only be Roger or John, but he wants their private moment to remain private. John turns the corner and smiles at him in greeting.

“How was your lecture?”

“Good. Interesting. Lots of math.”  
Brian hopes his pitch isn’t as high as it felt leaving his mouth. He kisses John once on the cheek before quickly leaving the kitchen and booking it to the bedroom. It didn’t seem like John was acting any different, but he also doesn’t want to stick around and find out.

Brian digs out one of his books he has been using for his thesis and a highlighter. They leave him alone for a while until he hears a soft knock at the door. He looks up and spots Roger chewing on his bottom lip.

“This is becoming a habit, hm?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“You running off to the bedroom and me dragging you out,” Roger steps closer.

“It’s happened maybe three times.”

“A pattern,” Roger says.

Brian rests his head on his arms as he leans on the desk. Roger moves so that his hip is resting against the edge of the corner, but he is carefully not blocking Brian’s path of escape. He feels bad that they expect him to run off.

“I’m sorry.”

Roger tilts his head, “do you know what for?”

Brian shrugs. He had hoped the apology would cover whatever is going on. Not that he has completely ruined things with Roger as he has with John and Freddie.

“Is everything alright?” Roger asks.

He shrugs again. Roger uncrosses his arms and places them in his pockets. Brian relaxes slightly now that he has more space to breathe.

“Everything is fine.”

“Yeah?” Roger says.

Brian pushes the chair back. He knows that tone.

“Everything is fine then? No reason you skipped out on John and Freddie just an hour ago? Or why you keep spacing out in the middle of our conversations?”

“I’m exhausted Rog, the band and school are taking a lot.”  
Roger drops his shoulders, “is it just that?”

“Of course.”

Brian wants to cry. He doesn’t want to lie to Roger, but he cares too much about this relationship for it to be tainted with his issues. The hospital and the pills need to stay in the past, he just needs an adjustment period.

“Nothing else?”

“Why do you think there’s something else?”

“Because ever since you came back from your parents, you’ve been different, more” Roger spins his hand, “combative. Then you’ve been drawing away from us since Brighton.”

Brian shakes his head. He doesn’t smile, because Roger would see through it in an instant, and that’s the last thing that he wanted. What could he say that the two encounters he had with the hallucination freaked him out? That he feels like his body isn’t his.

A quiet part of his mind speaks up, _Roger can’t do anything about it, so why worry him? _

“I don’t know what to say, Rog. Maybe it’s the stress from the family and balancing school and the band.”

Roger’s eyes dance over his face, “if you’re certain.”

“If I figure out another reason, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

“Okay,” Roger says, “may I kiss you?”

Brian nods. The kiss is light and quick. Roger pulls away and reaches for his hands.

“I got us food and saved us from Freddie’s mashed carrots.”

“I don’t think it would have been that bad.”

“Four cups of brown sugar?”

“Okay. Maybe it could have been that bad.”

Roger drags him out of the chair. Brian halfheartedly fights it but gives in after a few seconds. He isn’t going to be left alone if Roger decides that he isn’t. John is sitting on the table flicking through one of Freddie’s magazines while Freddie makes comments about fashion.

They look up when he enters.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hello,” John greets.

Roger starts distributing the food onto the plates. Its curry, which he is fine with. As soon as the smell hits his nose what little appetite, he has worked up has vanished. His smile lessens as he sits down. Freddie reaches over to grab his hand. He squeezes.

“There’s supposed to be a big Halloween party happening thrown by… well I don’t remember by who, but I do know it’s happening.”

“That’s still a few weeks away.”

Freddie hums, “but best to plan for it now.”  
John turns the page loudly and then pulls the plate near to him. Roger makes a noise of annoyance but moves to fill the second plate.

“Going to a Halloween party?” Roger asks, “I’m game.”

John shrugs, “I don’t care either way.”

The three of them turn towards Brian. He bites his cheek. Parties really aren’t his thing. They tend to make his ears buzz from the music and the alcohol makes him that much more anxious. Brian also doesn’t want the others to stay in because he doesn’t want to go, which the past has proven to him is a possibility.

Besides, it _is _a holiday.

“I think it might be fun.”

Roger walks around the table to press a kiss to his cheek before sliding the plate in front of him. He grins. Freddie pouts about being the last to get food. John pats him on the back of the hand. Roger rolls his eyes before quickly making up a plate for Freddie.

“You know,” Roger says, “technically I’m the last to get food.”

Freddie shrugs.

Brian laughs quietly. Maybe things will work out in the end.

* * *

He has a bad feeling, it has been a few days since Roger cornered him, but Roger certainly hasn’t lost focus on him and not in a fun way. Brian pulls his hood over his head; the rain hadn’t stopped all day. Not particularly surprising but he rarely gets this upset about a rainy day. Today had been long too, finishing up drafts of essays and digging out what research he can find on zodiacal light.

By the time he manages to get back to the flat, his pants are soaked through and the rain is working its way through his jacket. He shivers and quickly undoes the lock. Roger should be home and he grins as he thinks about being able to dry off and warm up in a bed.

When he steps inside, everything feels _wrong. _His chest tightens and he swallows. Quietly he takes off his shoes and sets his bag down. Nothing seems out of place, but he knows something is off. Brian steps further into the house. The radio is on, so Roger had been home, he even sees the teacup and kettle next to the sink rather than in it.

Brian opens his mouth to call out, and then thinks better of it. He rubs his chest as he works his way through the bottom level of the flat. Then scratches it as he climbs the steps towards their bedroom. “His” bedroom door is open, when he usually keeps it closed. Someone is inside too.

He bites his lip before inhaling. Brian leans against the door frame when he sees Roger sitting on his bed. The pain in his chest grows and he rubs at it a little harsher. In Roger’s hands rests a dark brown bottle with pills inside.

Brian stares.

“Drugs, Bri?” Roger asks.

Brian shakes his head, “medication.”

Roger raises an eyebrow.

“Sure –” Roger rolls his eyes and shakes the tablets, “no label.”

He had taken the label off so that people wouldn’t know what he was taking, not because he was taking anything illegal. He took it off _because _of situations like this. Brian crosses his arms.

“You really think I’d do hard drugs?”

“I don’t know what to think, Bri,” Roger says, “I told you, you’ve been different.”  
“I’m not.”

“Then tell me what you’re taking?”

“That is really none of your business.”

Roger opens his mouth, but then presses his lips together, “it is my business, we’re dating.”  
Brian leans back, “I still get to have privacy.”

“And if you needed to go to the hospital?”

Brian shrugs. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but the chances that he, a relatively healthy person, was going to need to go to the hospital were slim. He is also pretty certain that no medication interacts with it.

“So you decided to violate my privacy, instead of asking?”

Roger stands, “it isn’t like you were going to tell me.”

“So that gives you the right to dig around my things?”

He grips his biceps tightly. Roger means well, but he didn’t tell them for a reason. Then there is the fact that Roger would think that he’d get addicted to drugs rather than have a valid excuse. The lack of trust is appalling.

A quiet voice reminds him that he hadn’t trusted Roger (any of them) either.

Roger holds up the bottle and shakes them once more. The few pills left rattle, reminding Brian that he needs to get more.

“Then tell me what they are if it isn’t anything bad,” he says, “Bri I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He doesn’t know why he is digging his heels in so deeply. Brian kept it a secret because he didn’t want them getting worked up about him taking medication or that he’ll be more of a danger to himself. It appears that it didn’t do anything towards keeping their overprotectiveness away.

“Roger,” he says.

He sighs. Right now, he doesn’t have the energy for the fight. They need to cool off anyway, who knows how long Roger had known about the medicine, what kind of fit he has worked himself into.

“I’m going out.”

Roger blinks, “just like that?”

Brian nods.

“We need to talk about this Brian.”  
“Are we talking about your breach of trust?”

Roger stops.

“I don’t want to talk about anything else, so if we aren’t, then I’m going out.”

He walks back towards the door, making sure he has his keys and wallet. Roger follows him, apparently still carrying the pill bottle with him.

“Don’t wait up for me.”  
Brian looks back at Roger whose face is slowly morphing from heartbroken to a deep scowl. He shrugs and steps through the door keeping his head down against the rain. There isn’t a clear destination in his mind, but he just knows he wants to go to a space and have a moment to himself and figure out how mad he wants to be at Roger.

He stops when he hears a live band threading underneath a door. Brian looks up and sees that he has wandered to an old haunt of his. One of his old haunts from when he first started at Imperial, way before Roger. If they look for him, they probably won’t think to look here. He quickly dips inside, shaking the water from his curls Brian hands up his coat and looks around.

“Brian! Long time no see!”

He smiles at the bartender if he remembers right, she was just starting to study to be a nurse. Brian takes a seat at the end of the bar listening to the band. They aren’t bad, their bassist is much better than their guitarist but otherwise the music is low-key and pleasant to listen too.

“This still your poison?”

Brian looks down at the Stella Artois in front of him. He nods.

“Thanks,” he says.

Her name is Hannah, he thinks.

“How’s everything?”

“Had to take a year off school,” Hannah shrugs, grabbing a glass to clean, “but I should be back to it next semester.”

Brian looks up, “you took a year off?”

“Yeah, I wanted to travel, so I did. Got to see all sorts of things.”

“You took time off to travel?”

Hannah smiles bemusedly, “yeah, it isn’t illegal. The school doesn’t care really.”

Brian hums. That’s reassuring somehow but a problem for another day. He downs the bottle and gestures for another one. Hannah doesn’t say anything but grabs him another bottle. He drinks that one just as quickly. Hannah frowns this time.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, another?”

This time she hesitates, but then bends down to give him another. Brian savors this one slightly. Sipping on it slowly and glancing around. He watches the band play, the guitarist fumbles with a riff and Brian winces, the recovery is fairly flawless. Most people don’t seem to notice the slip-up.

In the end, Hannah seems to have gotten whatever hesitation about serving him drinks. He slowly slumps against the bar the more drinks that he has in him. The ground spins. He feels warm enough that his long sleeve shirt is starting to feel like a bad idea.

Brian loses count of how many he has drunk around what he thinks was his seventh drink. He closes his eyes and tries to make everything steady again. His stomach turns uneasily, and it is only then that he realizes the only thing he has eaten today is a few bites of eggs and a piece of toast from breakfast.

He slept through his lunch break, and he shrugs. At least he is sleeping.

“Brian?”

When he opens his eyes, he sees Sylvi leaning against the bar.

“You look unwell,” she says.

Brian shrugs. He _feels _unwell, “just relaxing.”  
Sylvi clicks her tongue, and it reminds him of Freddie. He frowns. He would really like to have Freddie here now, despite all their arguments. He misses the casual affection.

“I think you need to have a proper lie-down,” Sylvi says, “you can come back to mine.”

It might be nice to give Roger the space for the night. He would hate to not tell them that he isn’t coming home for the night, they’d worry. It would be a reasonable thing for them to worry over. Brian sips on his beer, sluggishly mulling the thoughts in his head.

“Brian May!”

He jumps, and some of the drink splashes on the front of his shirt. Brian turns around to spot Tim Staffel, his hair is shorter, and he looks put together for once. He grins.

“Tim! How are you?”

Tim grips his hand, pulling him into a brief hug. Brian is relieved that despite their fallout they’re still friendly. Even if they haven’t stayed in contact after the split.

“I listened through the album; it’s got a damn good sound.”

“Thanks,” Brian replies.

Sylvi clears her throat.

“Well…”

Tim glances at her, “if you need a place to crash tonight, mine is always welcome.”

Brian nods automatically, “yeah, it’d be great to catch up.”  
Sylvi smiles, “I’m glad you’ll be safe.”

He shivers and looks towards the door which is slamming shut.

* * *

If Freddie hadn’t been worried before, then he certainly is now. Roger had half the bedroom destroyed before curling up in the middle of the bed stroking Eta with a sad gaze.

“Roggie,” Freddie gently climbs onto the bed next to him, “why are you sulking, my love?”

Roger shrugs. Freddie tugs him into an embrace, he waits until the rigidity eases out.

“It’s Brian,” Roger replies.

_Isn’t it always these days? _Freddie frowns, wondering what has happened now.

“He… I found pills in his room. No label. And when I asked him about it…”  
“It didn’t go well?” Freddie asks.

Roger nods.

He hopes Brian isn’t being stupid and has half a mind to get John to have Percy tail after their wayward guitarist (again). If Brian wants his space, they must respect it, no matter how tight it makes his throat. He didn’t know about the pills, though.

“The bottle was nearly empty,” Roger adds.

A problem like that would explain Brian’s behavior. Freddie doubts that’s the case, if Brian rarely indulges a cigarette with them then pills seem like an awfully large jump to make. Then again, _he _isn’t the one seeing ghosts. Had they missed the signs of it getting worse again? Or maybe they haven’t found what object it is attached to if it’s the same ghost and Brian is haunted.

The phone rings. Roger wiggles out of the embrace.

“If it’s Brian?”

Roger shrugs, “he lives here. We have to talk at some point.”

Freddie watches the blond go. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on Brian.

_Manicured nails around a throat. A bloody dagger. Dust stirred up. Ancient whispers. Fire. Bright light. Brian’s face. **“It’s broken. How odd.” **Gray smoke. A figure wrapped in black satin. Hovering. It reaches. Black satin keeps the entity together._

Roger’s hand is on his shoulder. He looks up at the startled blue eyes of his companion.

“What was that about?”

“Brian – he – I saw – Brian,” Freddie doesn’t _know _what any of that is supposed to mean.

He _always knows_ what his visions mean. Brian is in danger clearly but from what…who?

“Tim has him. Currently, he is passed out on Tim’s bed,” Roger replies, “he is safe.”

Freddie lets out a sigh of relief. Maybe it was a vision of what could have been? The hand wasn’t masculine, and he knows what Tim’s hands look like.

“Brian was in danger,” Freddie finally manages.

At least that was clear. He doesn’t know if Brian is _out _of danger. Roger sits down and pulls Freddie to his chest. He relaxes at the steady beat of Roger’s heart.

“We’ll talk to him in the morning,” Roger kisses the top of his head.

“We should go to him now.”

Roger shakes his head, “Bri is mad enough already if he drank himself into a state that he needs to be taken care of.”

Freddie grips Roger’s shirt tight, “but what if it happens – whatever I saw?”

“I already got Percy to agree to watch, even without John’s approval. John will know before any of us either way.”

He feels Roger’s shaking. Freddie knows that Roger is putting on a front. Brian being away from them is the worst feeling, he can’t imagine what it would feel like to have Brian _taken _from them. They’d be going to him now if Roger wasn’t so scared of pushing past that invisible line Brian has drawn.

The one that Freddie so thoroughly trod on when he pushed Brian for details, the one that Roger very nearly broke when accusing Brian of being on drugs. Gods, had they really fallen so far apart that the accusation made sense?

Freddie shakes his head. For now, they’re all safe. Tomorrow they’ll be together again. Then they’ll go from there. That’s all they can do.

That and hope that whatever he just saw never comes to pass. Freddie pushes any thoughts of Brian’s health line from his head.

Tomorrow. They just must get to tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, I also want to shake some sense into these boys.  
Man, what kind of drama is going on here? Bonus points to the person who guesses it right.  
and hey! Tim is back. Freddie is getting weird predictions though, so not entirely sure what that trade off is about.  
As always leave your thoughts and comments below, or come talk to me on tumblr!!


	8. How does the wheel of fate turn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the late update, but here we go!

Brian doesn’t think about going back to the flat until well into the afternoon. One part of him wants to catch up with Tim, learn what his friend has been up to since the spilt. The other part of him (the one that half expects that he keeps inching closer to the threshold that they’re willing to tolerate him) wants to put off going as much as he can.

“Brian,” Tim says, “I know you have your thing, and I know why you have hesitation with sharing.”

“Tim,” he warns.

Tim, as usual, ignores him, “and believe me when I say Roger had no right to go behind your back or Freddie shouldn’t have pushed, but I’m grateful.”

Brian raises an eyebrow, only to wince when it hurts. He drank too much last night.

“They care about you Bri, and they can work on how they show it,” Tim says, “but I’m glad that they care about you.”

He rolls over to his side. Tim grabs his hand and squeezes before dropping it.

“They don’t respect me.”

“I think they do,” Tim says, “but they’re bad at it. You should talk this out, Bri. I know last night wasn’t your best, but you look happier.”

Brian snorts, “care about my happiness now?”

“Always.”

The tone makes him open his eyes. Tim is worrying his bottom lip and rubbing the ring on his pointer finger. Brian realizes it’s the one he bought Tim for his birthday some years ago.

“Tim? Why did you quit Smile really?”

Tim shrugs, “I did need the change, and Humpy Bong did offer.”

“But why?”

He leans his head back against the sofa. Their eyes meet and things suddenly make sense. Brian prays that he has jumped to the wrong conclusion.

“You’re like a dog with a bone, I swear.”

Brian pouts. Tim crawls closer to him and cups his face before diving in for a kiss. It lasts barely a second, but it's enough for Brian to still. His heart hammers in his chest and tears spring to his eyes. How could he have missed this? Brian has never felt anything more than friendship for Tim, certainly, but Tim fancying him? He should have noticed.

“I was careful so you wouldn’t. We had a good thing, and I had hope that one day you might be able to return my feelings.”

Tim gives a bitter laugh, “and then you met Roger and it was all over.”

Brian rubs the back of his neck. He isn’t entirely sure what he should do or how he should respond. Tim wasn’t looking for anything more, but Brian doesn’t know how to comfort him. It's true that once Roger came into his life, there was really no thought to anyone else. If there was it was never for long.

“Sorry,” Tim says, “this is the last thing you need right now.”

Brian nods slowly. He will let Tim set up how he wants the interactions to go from now on. He is more than willing to ignore it if Tim is.

Tim sighs, “well.”

“Well,” Brian echoes.

They stare at each other, and Brian decides that the best thing to do for everything is to give Tim space.

“I should - I’m not leaving because this makes me uncomfortable – but I should get back to – and you probably want to be alone – and I’m sorry.”

“_You’re _apologizing?” Tim laughs.

Brian shrugs. It is his fault that Tim is hurting and why Tim liked him in the first place. He feels bad that the truth had to come out like this. That Tim doesn’t get to have the easy reciprocation that he has with the rest of his boys. It is the best feeling in the world and he is preventing Tim from feeling it.

“Don’t,” Tim says.

He doesn’t know what else to do. The rug feels like it has been pulled out from underneath him when it hasn’t been there at all. Either conversation he has been presented with is something he doesn’t know how to _do, _music and fights he can handle. Brian is working on his way of communicating affection, but complicated emotions? Well, he just doesn’t know. His family has always kept their feelings inside.

Tim pats his arm, “Bri, don’t think so hard. I wasn’t expecting reciprocation. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer.”

“Does it,” Brian clears his throat, “do you feel better now? That it’s out in the open that is?”

“In a way I suppose.”

Brian sits up. Tim rolls his eyes.

“Studying me?” Brian shrugs, and Tim says, “it's like – well I’ve laid all my cards on the table then, and nothing’s changed but I can’t say it is because I wasn’t honest or myself.”

He nods, “so even if it wasn’t the answer you wanted…”

“You’re going to take me as is,” Tim finishes, “whether I like it or not.”

Brian hums and looks towards the wall. He taps his fingers nervously against the couch but Tim covers his hand. He doesn’t jerk away but looks at their overlapped hands. For a brief second, he mourns what could have been, but then he thinks about Roger, Freddie, and John all likely waiting for him. They’ll let him explain at the very least. Even if he isn’t ready to forgive Roger’s snooping or Freddie’s prying.

“If – I don’t know how it isn’t going to go – I hope it doesn’t go poorly,” Brian groans in frustration, wishing once he could articulate his thoughts well, “can I come back here?”

Tim smiles, a little bitter and strained. Brian raises his hands.

“I didn’t mean you to think – I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“You’re okay and you’re always welcome here. Especially if something goes south with that band of yours. I’d rather spend a few moments unhappy than worry about where you ended up for the night.”

Brian raises an eyebrow, “so you weren’t going to say anything at the bar until Slyvi started asking me to go with?”

“I would’ve backed off if you wanted me to,” Tim shrugs, “I just wanted you to have the option.”  
He sighs and buries his head in his hands. The defensiveness has got to stop, he knows it does. Brian looks at Tim.

“What should I do?”

“Man, I don’t know. I wish I could help, but either you explain _why _you don’t want them snooping or you could give them the answer as to why they were snooping in the first place.”

“It sounds so simple.”

Tim rolls his eyes, “most things are, Bri.”

He laughs. Tim claps him on the back before picking up the few glasses scattered around the living room. Brian doesn’t remember much after they stumbled through the entryway, but either he drank more or drank water. He doesn’t have the worst hangover in his life so Tim must have given him water.

“Thank you,” he calls.

“Don’t mention it.”  
He stares at the peeling wallpaper. It’s different from the pristine paint of the flat, and Tim barely has any decoration. The flat feels lived in, but it also feels like its lacking something. Brian tilts his head. It feels cold. He misses his flat like he has been gone for a week rather than only eighteen hours. Frankly, that terrifies him. He has never been so dependant on a place before in his life.

Brian has always felt like a runaway, drifting between groups and places without little impact and keeping fewer ties. Now he has a place that he _wants _to go home to. No. Not quite a place, but people. He leans back against the couch, only people in romance novels get homesick from being apart from a person. If he wants to keep it – and somedays he feels as though he needs it (which is another horrifying thought) – he’ll need to follow Tim’s advice.

Offer something and hope that they’ll take it in return. If not then he will know that he tried. He can only hope that in turn, they’ll offer something.

“I’ll have to talk to them sooner rather than later,” he mumbles.

Tim leans on the back of the couch next to him, “I assume that would be better. Sleeping on couches can’t be good for your back.”

He drapes his arms over his eyes.

“But don’t push yourself,” Tim says.

“You said this was simple.”

“Feelings are, doing things about them,” he hears the shrug, “that’s where things get messy.”

Brian lifts his arm from his eyes, “do you mind if I use your shower?”

“Go ahead, it takes about fifteen seconds for the hot water to run.”

* * *

Brian arrives at their flat’s doorstep at about half-past nine. The mid-October air is starting to turn biting and he hates that his trembling isn’t just because of the cold. Only once before has he felt this awkward standing in front of the door, and that’s the first time he came over. He smiles at the memory, when he was more concerned they would hate him because he didn’t bring over a bottle of wine.

Now he is afraid they’ll think he is too much. That he isn’t worth the trouble in a romantic relationship “but we can still be friends, Bri.” A line he has heard before.

He raises his hand to knock when the door opens. John stands in front of him, looking at his fist. Gray eyes trail up his arm and land on Brian’s face. Brian pulls the hand back to rub the back of his neck. John hasn’t said or done anything. His mouth turns gummy and he doesn’t know what he should say. Obviously, he can’t act like nothing happened, because John would be acting like it already if that was the case.

Brian gasps when arms wrap around him, hugging him tight enough that air is forced from his lungs. John’s large hands splay over his shoulder and one cups the back of his head. He smells the familiar mix of soap and ozone and heaves a sigh of relief. Although he doesn’t understand what is happening.

“We were worried,” John says.

“Yeah,” Brian says.

Apologizing probably should have been the first thing out of his mouth.

“I was about to go out and look for you,” John confesses.

Brian purses his lips, “why?”

John lets him go, he misses the warmth but loses any amusement at John’s flush. He bites his cheek because he doesn’t want this to go where he thinks that it will. Tim told him to _try _and talk. Even Tim’s patience might wear out if he says they’ve only said twenty words to each other before he gave up.

“Tim said you were staying the night, and then we haven’t heard anything since,” John says.

Brian crosses his arms.

John sighs, “then Freddie had an odd… dream… and I guess we’ve been on edge.”

He can see the tiny glimmer of concern edge into John’s gaze and the quick way he tilts his head back as though listening for Freddie. Brian believes that Freddie had a bad dream, next to him their singer is most prone to nightmares (even if they’re much rarer and far less intense). They at least gave him a say before searching, more than anyone has offered before.

“Yeah. I – there were some things I needed to think about before we talked.”

John’s back straightens, the flicker of concern shifts into the closest thing John would ever show to panic. Brian winces. Maybe he could have phrased that better.

“Can I come in?”

That does earn him a surprised laugh, “Bri, you live here.”

“I do.”

“You don’t have to ask, love.”  
Brian swallows. There is still _that_ problem over their heads. John seems to have not given it a second thought turning to allow Brian to pass. He can let that issue go, for now, it may not even be an issue within the hour if the conversation goes poorly. John gently guides him to the kitchen, which means they wanted to talk to him before he got him.

Clearly, they’re on the same page about something. He wishes that it wasn’t so terrifying.

“Brian!” Roger grins standing.

It takes all of Roger’s self-restraint for him to sit back down. Brian is grateful because he doesn’t know how well he would react to Roger touching him at the moment. Freddie has set down his pens and is watching him, there is a strange blend of emotions in his eyes. The strongest of which is relief followed closely by love. Brian steps back from the intensity. He can almost feel what all three of them feeling.

Right now that’s too much for him.

John removes his hands and steps away. Brian does shuffle to the corner of the kitchen, pressing his back against the wall, but making sure that he has spaces to move if he needs to. He closes his eyes when his mind reminds him of the shadow splitting and grabbing him through the wall.

His chest aches and he tries to rub it away. The three of them are watching him. Brian worries his bottom lip between his teeth and ends up tugging a loose a piece of skin. He sucks on the cut wincing at the copper tang filling his mouth. When they don’t speak, he uncrosses his arms and then crosses them again when he feels too exposed.

“I’m sorry for going through your things and accusing you of being an addict.”

Brian blinks as the quiet is shattered. He inhales, “I… understand why, but I can’t forgive you yet.”

Roger’s face falls. Brian rubs his chest again. He doesn’t know this will do to them going forward, but Roger doesn’t get to say a few words and rebuild the trust they apparently never had in the first place.

“And I want to explain why…” Brian covers his face attempting to gather his strength.

He doesn’t want to do this… scratch that _he does_, but he wants to know they’ll react after everything is out in the open. He wants to be able to prepare himself.

“When I was sixteen or thereabout… my Thing got so bad my parents though the only way they could help was to send me to a _hospital._”

Brian struggles to swallow around the word. It was both a prison and an asylum. He hears the sharp gasps but doesn’t look at them. His eyes are firmly trained on the tile floor and he focuses on his fingers digging into his arms.

“They were, well… they did their jobs. No privacy and no secrets unless you wanted your stay to be longer. There were nurses that came in while you were at a session and would toss your bunk.”

He shrugs. That hadn’t been the worst part of his stay, but it was certainly one of the things that stuck with him. Another part of him wishes that it had been the worst.

“Either way,” he clears his throat, “my privacy is important to me.”

There. They know how bad he can get. Part one of this little confession complete.

“And the medication if you must know, is supposed to help with the hallucinations.”

With that, he finally looks up. Roger, Freddie, and John look like they’re still processing his words. Brian doesn’t’ care to watch their reactions in real-time. Instead, he pushes back anything else he might say and nearly bolts out of the kitchen. It might be the worst thing for him to do, but it is all he can handle at this moment.

A hand wraps around his wrist. Brian jerks it from the grip and Freddie raises both hands.

“I’m sorry – you can – are you staying?”

His mouth doesn’t want to move so he gestures towards the staircase. Freddie relaxes and drops his hands.

“Okay. I didn’t – I’m sorry.”

Brian doesn’t know why he is apologizing. Truthfully, Brian hadn’t known where he was going, leaving the flat sounded like a plan but twice in as many days might mark him as a flight risk. He shakes his head, they wouldn’t blame him or keep him against his will because he runs out too many times. Quickly he rushes up the steps and to his bedroom, where he shuts the door and then drags the chair over to the handle.

The little bit of control lets him breathe easier and he crawls onto his bed. Brian glances around the room and grabs one of his physics textbooks and goes to a random chapter, then he pulls the notebook that was hiding underneath it and starts working through physics problems.

When the first knock hits his door he jumps. Brian spends a few seconds looking at the paper, where he had successfully completed only one problem and written the equation for the next. He sighs and feels his eyes begin to burn. He smacks his hand against the bed. Why does he want to cry?

“Bri?” John’s quite voice calls.

“Yes?” He replies.

His voice sounds gravely even to himself and groans. Brian doesn’t want to field questions about how he is right now.

“We’re ordering food, do you want anything?”

Brian shakes his head, “no.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

He had food with Tim, but that had been something light and small. His stomach has been picky about what he eats now. He hears John’s sigh through the door. Brian winces and brings his knees up to his chest. The guilt hits him that he is worrying them more. Although it seems like no matter what he does he’ll be worrying them.

“Okay. Well, we’ll get extra sides in case you change your mind.”

“Thank you.”

John steps on one of the creaky floorboards, but Brian is just relieved that he is leaving. Once he is sure that John is downstairs Brian tosses his notebook and textbook from his bed and drops down to the pillows. The burn in his eyes is back and he sighs again. This time it comes out shaky.

The tears come shortly after that. Brian curses himself because he doesn’t _get _why he is crying. Sure, he might be ruining one of the best things in his life but that isn’t in concrete yet. He can’t be upset that he has gone back to the medication because he wasn’t getting anywhere without it but taking it feels like he is admitting defeat.

Brian wipes the tears away with the corner of the blanket and stops any more from falling. He stares at the far wall and carefully picks his emotions up and shoves them into a box. His head becomes clouded with numb exhaustion.

* * *

He wishes he could say that he was excited for the Halloween party tonight. Somewhere in his head he can feel the prick of joy, but since the night he explained things, Brian hasn’t been much for excitement. Everything has become a monotonous blend of school and band and reacting to the others. They haven’t given up on the relationship and Brian hates that it feels like _he _has.

Freddie picked out his costume, a mockup of a prince. His shoulders are poofy like some 14th century noble, and the corset hugs him tightly but doesn’t cut off his breathing. He wears a dark sash around his waist just above the women’s trousers Freddie and Roger found in their stall. The platform boots he is going to have to wear will hurt his feet terribly. He accepts it because its just one less thing that he must worry about.

He has a circlet that Roger found for him, it looks like someone weaved sticks together and then dipped it in silver and adorned with emerald leaves. It is spectacular. Brian rubs his thumb along it before resting it gently on his curls.

Brian thumbs at his necklace. It doesn’t really fit with the rest of his outfit. John recently found a heavy-looking necklace made from old beads that seems to be more in tune with the character that he is supposed to have tonight. His hands shake as he unclasps the necklace and rests it on the velvet necklace stand that somehow ended up in his room.

It feels odd to not be wearing anything around his neck. He clasps the new necklaces on, and this one is much heavier than what he usually wears but as he thought it matches much better color-wise. Brian slips on a few of the rings that they all share among themselves when they aren’t performing. He runs a hand over the beads which makes a satisfying clicking sound.

Freddie is going to meet them there, but Roger and John have been done since he got out of the shower. Brian fluffs his curls again, hoping that he isn’t going to catch a cold from still wet hair. He forces a tiny smile on his mouth, and he looks like he did several months ago, in a brand-new relationship with the people that could very easily be the loves of his life.

Before the numbness that has been following him around for a few weeks can wipe away that smile he hurries downstairs. John has put minimal effort into a mummy costume: white shirt and white jeans with some gauze loosely wrapped around his arms and head. Roger is twirling in the middle of the living room with a satin cape spinning out behind him for a convincing vampire costume.

“Our prince!” Roger greets.

He bows with exaggeration, and John pushes him with his foot sending Roger toppling over. Roger squawks and attempts to sit up but he gets tangled in his cape. Brian laughs as he crosses the last few meters of space. John tugs him down by the sash where they meet in a brief kiss. Roger pulls him into another kiss after he manages to get himself untangled from the cape.

“I guess this means you’re Snow White,” John says.

Brian frowns, “what?”

“Sings and loves animals…” John shrugs.

“Does the chores for men who can’t,” Brian smirks.

John snorts and rolls his eyes, “we can.”  
He straightens Roger’s collar and cape while Roger keeps attempting to steal kisses which makes Brian’s task that much harder. Finally, he concedes, letting Roger get in another peck on the lips.

“Does this mean when I fall into an endless slumber, I have you two to blame when I wake up?”

Roger’s eyes widen and John opens his mouth. Brian feels his throat tighten and is about to walk his statement back when he gets sandwiched in a hug. John kisses his neck tenderly.

“We’d wake you up, of course.”

Brian hums happily for a moment. John’s words sink in. He wiggles free and stares.

“John?”

“Hm?” John tilts his head.

He opens his mouth and then closes it. If they don’t want to make a big deal of it, then he won’t either. Brian desperately _wants _to hear those words from them, serious and with the gravitas they deserve. His lips quirk up into a brief mockery of a smile.

“That’s so sappy coming from you.”

John rolls his eyes, “I thought you were going to say something helpful.”

Brian shrugs, “and make your life easier?”

Roger snorts, “let’s get to the party before Freddie starts pouting that we’re late.”  
His hand gets tugged on by Roger and he takes a step over to him. John has a frown now and Brian hopes that it isn’t because of what he had just said. They were teasing each other, right? He hadn’t been expected to confirm his depth of love for them at that moment. No so casually for the first time at the very least.

Brian bites down on his tongue. He tastes the familiar copper tang.

“If Freddie is early then the stars must have aligned,” John says after a beat of silence.

“It’s been known to happen,” Roger tosses over his shoulder.

He drags Brian over to the entryway while John picks up the minor mess, a few cups from the tea and soda they were drinking along with a bag of crisps. Roger squeezes his hand before dropping it to pull on his shoes.

“Know many vampires that wear sparkly shoes, Rog?” Brian teases.

“Piss off,” Roger shoots back.

His eyes widen before he grins wide enough that his tongue pokes out between his teeth, “glad to see your mood is better.”

Brian swallows the lie, “yeah, tonight might just be what we need.”

Roger smiles brightly for a few moments more. He bends down and ties his laces while Brian grabs the platform boots. They fit well, but as expected he already feels the cramping in his calves. Freddie will tell him he just needs to wear them more. Maybe he should find a seat at the party and hide out there for the night. Surely John won’t be getting into anything with Roger and Freddie.

John offers a tiny grin when he reappears and quickly pulls on his own trainers.

“Do we drive or walk?”

“Walk it, rather not have any accidents in case we get too pissed,” Roger says.

Brian can’t argue with that logic as much he would like to. The party is a forty-minute walk, the night is nice at least, but he doesn’t trust the London weather of late October. John is pulling on his coat and handing Brian his rainbow scarf. He mutters a quiet thanks and stares at the pendants on John’s neck. For a moment he feels a pang of guilt for not wearing it and then shrugs it off.

It is a necklace that is important to him and there is always a chance that it will break each time he wears it. Parties make it riskier because people tend to be less delicate with their movements. It is for one night.

Brian inhales he told Roger that this might be what they need, and he hopes that it is.

* * *

The party is loud and his head is buzzing within the first fifteen minutes. Roger is socializing, working his way between groups Brian is almost certain he has never met before in his life. He smiles every time he sees the blond’s eyes drift over to him. John is never far from him, Brian is grateful for the companionship. He is certain that without John there would be whispers of the weird guy sitting in the corner.

He can’t complain too much, the selection of free alcohol is good, and it seems that his cup hasn’t run dry. John is sipping from his, so he can’t accurately say how much he has had to drink but he is already well into being tipsy.

Unfortunately, it seems like tonight he will be a grumpy drunk.

“What do you suppose she is supposed to be?”

Brian looks up in time to follow where John is pointing. Long blond hair is done in two braids, and she is wearing a bright green dress with a witch hat and a few spiders dangling from it.

“Not a witch, not with those colors,” Brian says.

“Being stereotypical, Bri?” John laughs.

“You’re the one who asked. The pointed hat gives it away.”

John shrugs and lifts Brian’s cup to his mouth and drinks. Brian hums. The girl they were watching turns around. She smiles at Brian and then he realizes who she is. He doesn’t stand as she approaches… he doesn’t trust that he wouldn’t tip over. He takes the cup back from John who curls his hand around Brian’s shoulder.

“Brian!” Slyvi greets.

“Hello,” he says, “happy Halloween.”

Sylvi nods, “and which one is this?  
He feels John’s grip tighten.

“This is John, he’s one of my flatmates.”

Brian hates calling him that because while it is the factual truth, it doesn’t encompass anything that he feels for _any _of them. He does know that this was the price he was going to have to pay for this relationship, which is the public secrecy.

“Pleasure to meet you, John…?”

“Deacon,” he says.

He wonders if they’ve met before because John keeps his hand at his side instead of shaking Sylvi’s offered hand. Brian doesn’t really care either. If John wants to be rude that’s on him. Brian sips at his rink again.

“Bri,” John says, “your cup is almost empty.”

It is, he looks up at John, “did you want to get me another?”

“I thought you might want to say hi to Freddie or Roger?”

Brian shrugs. He can see Freddie leaning against the wall talking to familiar faces and he saw Roger wander towards the back room that Brian can only guess as to what is happening in there. They haven’t paid him any mind, so he doesn’t see why he’d have to pay attention to them.

“I think I should stop while I’m ahead.”

He looks up to see John’s frown deepen. Brian rolls his eyes. Tonight isn’t the night to bring up old tensions. John looks up and towards the door. His entire posture is rigid.

“Do you want to get air then?”

Brian shakes his head, “go on ahead.”

Sylvi stares at John like he has grown two heads. Brian sets the cup on the table next to him before standing up. He doesn’t _know _what has gotten into John.

“It’s a nice night, please, Brian?”

“Why?”

He crosses his arms.

John stares at him. Eventually, John sighs and lets some of the rigidity out. He looks around the room, and Brian follows the direction of his gaze. There is still no sign of Roger and now Freddie or anyone else that he knows aside from Sylvi who purses her lips. Brian wants to apologize for John’s sudden rudeness. Roger, he would be used to, even Freddie.

“Are you going to answer me?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling, all of a sudden.”

Brian tilts his head.

John spares a glance to Sylvi, “like I’m going to be sick.”

He feels a little bad for his reaction now. Why hadn’t John lead with that? Brian looks towards the ceiling, he doesn’t think John has ever admitted to being sick. Huh. _I wonder if he’s embarrassed about it?_

“I think fresh air would help, but just in case, I don’t want to go alone?”  
Brian finds himself nodding, “of course.”

With a short nod to Sylvi, he leads John through the house party to the back. He knows the porch will have a trashcan, which is mildly better than sicking in the street. It also gives him a chance to find Roger or Freddie in the crowd and tell them where they’re going.

No such luck.

Once outside John valiantly keeps his head over the trash can, taking deep even breaths. Brian hovers, wondering if he should fetch water or a rag, but the longer they’re out I the cold it seems the more John’s nausea flees him. Actually, John had been quite pale, Brian swallows the guilt and it sets heavily in his stomach.

“Why didn’t you say you thought you might be sick?” Brian asks.

John hums as Brian rubs a hand up and down John’s back. The chill makes him shiver.

“I didn’t want to say it in front of a stranger,” John whispers.

_Ah, I was right. _Brian rubs up and squeezes John’s shoulder before resuming the pattern.

“You’re out of time,” John says mildly, “and no I didn’t drink that much.”

Brian sticks his tongue out but tries to keep his timing accurate. He knows that it gives John and Roger both headaches whenever his tapping doesn’t have a steady beat, why should comfort be any different?

“Food poison? The shrimp were a little warm…”

Again John shrugs, “whatever it was, I think it’s passed by now.”

Brian steps away and lets John move away from the trash can. He steadies the bassist as he comes near.

“You good or do you want to leave?”

John looks at his watch, “it’s a quarter after eleven already?”

Brian checks his watch, “apparently.”

“Let’s find Rog and Fred and try to not push our luck.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“I am the only one with sense after all.”

Brian rolls his. John mirrors the action with exaggeration. He shoves at John.

“Go back to hanging over the rubbish bin, was a good look for you.”

John pushes him back. Brian stumbles up the stairs but manages to catch himself and sticks his tongue out at John who simply grins.

“There’s our Birdie,” John says softly.

Brian looks away for a moment, ashamed. He does feel good tonight, better than he has these last few weeks. The numbness still buzzes down his nerves but he feels happiness more readily and the love he always feels when he is with his boys. As they reenter the house they run straight into Roger.

His face lights up in relief before he scowls.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Outside,” John says mildly.

“John thought he was going to be sick. Where’s Freddie? We want to leave.”

Roger grabs his hand before leading him through the house. Freddie is entertaining a guest in the main room, but his eyes keep scanning around the room. He smiles just enough that Brian can tell its directed to them, but not wide enough that any of his teeth would show. Brian feels bad that they haven’t quite encouraged Freddie that he needs to hide.

“I thought you ran off with a younger and prettier man,” Freddie says once they cross the room.

“It would have been you we ran off with,” Brain says automatically.

Freddie blinks before slowly smiling, this time not bothering to care to hide his grin, “well, Birdie is overtly flirty tonight.”

Brian wiggles his eyebrows. He isn’t sure if it is the atmosphere or if it is the drinks, but he is in a mood. One where he doesn’t know if he just wants to cuddle with them once they get home or if he wants to do something more athletic. It depends on how John feels.

Roger leads them out of the house, shouting a farewell to whoever hosted the party. Brian looks at the other two. They both have a flush on their faces, but their strides are steady and so are their gazes. He frowns, wondering why the other two didn’t let themselves go as they usually do. He stays sober because alcohol messes with his medication and before it made his hallucinations worse. Roger and Freddie never had such a reservation.

He peaks at John, who has a flush high on his cheeks and his gait is steady. Certainly not like it would be if he was drunk enough to make him sick. Brian slows his pace. John adapts automatically. _Hmm. _Brian watches him for a few meters, he isn’t holding his stomach or head like he knows John tends to do when he does feel shitty.

Why would he _lie _about being sick?

Brian looks back at the party. John had been fine until Slyvi showed up. Did he not like her? If he knew her then why did he pretend they didn’t know? More importantly, why wouldn’t he just say it outright once they’re alone?

The good mood he had been feeling fades away and the numbness climbs back up his spinal cord. _Why would John lie?  
_Roger glances back at them and steps under John’s arm, taking his weight from Brian who smiles in thanks. He reaches up to toss his hair. Did they think that he was going to be upset that they didn’t like his friend? Worse were they going to think he’d turn it around and call them controlling?

Brian winces. He might’ve. Depending on how the topic was brought up.

They walk in silence. Freddie sends him nervous glances every few minutes that rub on Brian’s already exposed nerves. Especially because the closer they get to their apartment the better John apparently feels. His pace is picking up, and in fact, he’s shaken off Roger’s support and is nearly running.

Brian frowns.

He turns the corner last, nearly running into Freddie. It takes him a moment, but he realizes that there is a door in the middle of the street, and not just any door, but there’s. Their flat had been broken into. Roger breaks into a run but Freddie holds him steady.

“Let’s not run into whoever is in our home if they’re still there?”

“Where’d John go?”

“To the yard.”

Brian sighs, “that’s dangerous.”

Freddie nods, “I agree.”

“Why would anyone break into our flat?”

There were people on this street that are obviously more affluent than they are. Those people had fancy cars in front of their flats or they walked out wearing pearls and diamonds even when running to the store. He grips Freddie’s hand tightly. As they approach, Brian stares at the door. It almost looks like it has been pulled and thrown from the hinges.

No human could have done something like this, but he can’t imagine how the door got into the street. Unless one of their neighbors moved it because it was in a dangerous position, but then why wouldn’t they have called the police. Their neighbor’s light clicks on and the gentleman next door steps onto the porch.

“Oh my,” he says.

“Brimi dear, go check on Rog please,” Freddie mumbles, “terribly sorry sir, but do you think I could trouble you for a few moments more and get the police on the line?”

Brian ignores Freddie and follows Roger up the stares. He rubs his chest, praying that whoever it had been is long gone. Their entryway is a mess, their shoes litter the entire way and the more Brian steps into the flat, he can see that whoever it was tossed the entire place.

“Rog?”

Roger jumps and shakes his head, “sorry, Bri.”

“Freddie is phoning the police,” Brian carefully steps on the mess of papers.

He winces because that had been his essay along with a few of his songs. It would take ages to pick up and reorder. Roger catches his hand and brings him close. Strangely enough, Brian looks around the living room, nothing appears stolen. The TV and record player, both the obviously expensive electronics remain untouched.

Roger is frowning at the record player too.

“I’ll check upstairs?” Brian offers.

“Not alone,” Roger says.

They both quietly climb the steps. Roger grabs one of the fireplace stokers, which Brian stares at because they don’t have a fireplace, and also he doesn’t remember when it got moved to the side of the staircase. Probably Freddie, but when? And why?

Roger leads the way, brandishing the stoker like a baseball bat. They check each room first before they decide that whoever it had been was long gone. Brian sighs in relief. He wasn’t sure that either of them would have been able to actually fend off the attacker. He knows that he wouldn’t have the strength or the courage, and he doesn’t actually think Roger could bring himself to seriously hurt someone.

They check their individual rooms first. Brian’s textbooks and his private record player remain untouched. Both his bed and desk have been tossed. His pillows and sheets are on the floor and papers once again are scattered everywhere. As he steps, he nearly slips on one. When he looks down he sees that he has smeared ink across one.

What had he been writing that still needed to dry? Brian frowns. He hadn’t touched his good pen set today at all. Brian looks up at the desk and determines that if anything was stolen, then it was nothing of value. He then moves to the vanity. Drawers are pulled out and scattered, one being on the ground. Thankfully it seems like his jewelry box hasn’t been touched, he sighs in relief and opens it up. The few necklaces he owns are – wait.

Brian looks back to the top of the vanity. The necklace holder that Freddie had given him when giving him the necklace for his costume is empty. He stares at it. His grandmother’s necklace is gone. Slowly he strokes the soft velvet and his eyes aren’t fooling him.

The necklace is truly gone.

_No, _Brian thinks. The necklace is objectively worthless. Whoever had robbed them… or failed to rob them it seems… must have thought it was worth something before realizing that it was stone and not gem and then tossing it somewhere else in his room or flat.

He lets out a deep breath. That’s it. He’ll find it when they clean up the house or one of the others would. Brian stands back up and brushes off his pants before joining Roger out in the hallway.

“Anything gone?”

Brian shakes his head. For a moment he thinks to tell Roger about the necklace, but he’ll tell them as they clean.

“Odd,” Roger frowns, “they clearly had time, but why not steal anything?”

“Maybe they got interrupted and they were just perusing at first?” Brian tilts his head.

Roger runs a hand through his bangs, “yeah. I don’t. I don’t like this at all.”

“Yeah, the house feels… off. Dark.”

Brian shudders and Roger stares at him before grabbing his hand again. He feels the shaking in Roger’s hand as they hurry down the steps again. It’s strange that John hasn’t come back in, but Freddie is talking to one of the police inspectors.

“Hello chaps,” the man greets.

He smiles faintly. The inspector is exactly like he always saw them in TV portly with a bushy mustache. Brian reaches out to shake the man’s hand. Roger does the same to the other officer present.

“You were at a party from eight to you said eleven?” The inspector asks.

“We left about a quarter after, walked back. It was like this when we got here,” Brian nods, “we haven’t found anything missing. Just out of place.”

The officer writes something down.

“Well, lads,” the inspector looks around their torn up living room.

Brian runs up the stairs. Roger calls after him. He can’t believe that he forgot to – what if whoever it was thought that – Brian slides on the runner and stumbles into his room. His guitar case is still leaning against the wall, and when he pulls it away it feels heavy. Brian quickly places it on his bed and nearly sobs in relief when he tosses the latches open and then the lid.

The Red Special gleams dully in the moonlight. She is untouched, unharmed, and here. Brian sobs in relief. He can’t believe he hadn’t thought to check for her first and it is further relieved that he had been too tired to pull her out of her case recently and leaving her out.

He closes the case. When he turns he sees Roger, Freddie, and the inspector peering at him curiously. Brian rubs the back of his neck and gestures to the guitar. Roger rolls his eyes and the inspector smile.

“Prized possession there, lad?” The inspector says, “I remember buying my son his first acoustic, made me put it in evidence lock-up whenever we left the house for any length of time.”

Brian chuckles, “well, she’s the only one like this.”

Freddie nods solemnly, “I can’t imagine what we’d do without that guitar. Poor Brimi.”

_He _doesn’t want to think about what he would do without this guitar. 100-year-old fireplaces are hard to find. Especially in good condition and he knows that he’ll never be able to recreate her sound exactly.

“Well, considering the state of your door – do you boys have family or someone you can stay with until this is fixed?”

“I’ve already called my mum,” Freddie says, “she’s up and preparing biscuits even though I told her not to fuss.”

“If she’s making those crunchy ones, the fuss is fully accepted,” Roger says lightly.

His voice is shaking which makes the delivery a little weak. Brian brings his guitar to his chest.

“Well then,” the inspector says, “grab that guitar of yours and a few changes of clothes. show my lieutenant what you’re taking – an address or a phone number as well, and we’ll finish up here.”

Freddie nods before hurrying to the other rooms. Brian keeps on hand on the handle of his case before pulling out his book back and filling it with his textbooks and then his travel bag filled with clothes. Hopefully, his teacher will understand why his essay is going to be late.

Brian walks down the step to see John sitting on the couch, holding something. He looks over the bassist's shoulder to see an injured bird. It grips the air with its talons. Its arm has already been wrapped.

“John?”

He looks up and then at the bird in his lap, “it got pinned under the door in the street.”

“Odd that it was flying low enough to get caught,” Brian reaches out to stroke its head.

It closes its eyes and leans into his finger. Brian looks at the splint John created. It looks well done.

“I’ll take it to Jer’s, and let it go in the backyard,” John says.

Brian shrugs, “poor thing must be frightened terribly. It seems okay with you holding it though. Must be used to humans.”

“Probably steals their chips.”

He smiles, “how are you?”

“Shaken.”

Brian opens his mouth. He doesn’t know how to respond, John is rarely so blatant with his emotions. For him to admit it, he must be terrified. He wraps around John’s neck and they lean back together. The hand that John isn’t holding the kestrel with lifts up to hold his hand.

“Thank goodness we were at that party tonight,” John whispers.

Brian hums, “they probably waited until we were all going to be gone.”

“The inspector told his lieutenant that because nothing was stolen then they were probably after us personally.”

He shivers, “why?”

John shrugs, “honestly, my guess is that someone who suspects what we are to each other got ballsy.”

Brian feels sick. He can’t imagine that anyone could act so horribly towards someone because of how they love. He has heard what they call Freddie, and occasionally Roger. Even himself and John. Hell, his own family has said some of those very same things, but it never felt violent.

“We can’t know that,” Brian says softly.

He’d prefer they never get caught if that’s the case. Brian kisses the crown of John’s head, “got everything?”

“Freddie is getting it.”

As he says that he hears Roger and Freddie enter the living room. Roger has both the cats under is arms, their tails are fluffed wide and Roger keeps staring at Frankie with wide eyes.

“Ready, darling,” Freddie calls.

“I think that’s the fastest you’ve ever gotten ready, Freddie,” Brian swallows around the joke.

He doesn’t want this to hurt them more than it already has. Brian thought that maybe tonight was the night they could all be normal around each other again. He prayed for this to be the night. He scowls at their destroyed living room and lets out a long breath.

“Well,” Brian says, “no point in waiting around.”

It takes them another twenty minutes to catalog what they’re taking. Brian has gone back to desperately clutching his guitar. Roger and Freddie are holding onto each other tightly and John holds the kestrel with care. He turns back to their flat before climbing into the cab that the police were gracious enough to call them.

The cab driver is less thrilled to have a bird and two cats in his cab until Freddie promises to pay him triple.

* * *

John shifts nervously in the doorway. He always hates going into homes belonging to other covens. Freddie isn’t really _another _coven, but Jer certainly is. More importantly, he won’t have Percy to scout around the grounds to tell him if something is wrong. He strokes the injured bird as the door opens.

He has met Jer Bulsara before, but as all coven Matriarchs, she has an air about her that makes John aware that he should watch himself or he’ll have to scrub the children’s caldrons.

“My dear boys,” Jer coos.

She kisses Freddie on the forehead before hugging him tightly. Jer lets Freddie go and gives the same treatment to Rog who gasps at the tightness. John manages to escape the squeezing by holding up Percy with a remorseful smile. He does chuckle at Brian’s reaction, he stares flails his arms for a moment before wrapping around Jer and patting her back awkwardly.

Jer steps back, “too skinny, all of you.”

Freddie rubs the back of his head, “I promise we eat, mâmân.”

She tsks her tongue like she doesn’t quite believe him. Freddie is pushed inside followed by Roger and then Brian. John brings up the rear but pauses before entering.

“Do you have a healer?” He asks quietly.

“Kashrima is very good with healing spells, I thought Roger was?”

John shakes his head, “I want all of us near Brian tonight if you don’t mind.”

“Freddie has mentioned him and his… oddities,” Jer looks to where they can hear Freddie yelling about not looking at a photo book, “he knows nothing?”

“If he does, he’s very good at hiding it,” John says.

Jer nods, “it wouldn’t surprise me if he is.”

John looks up sharply, “why is that?”

“Ah, young ones. Never hearing about the May Coven?”

“John?” Brian calls.

“Coming!” John looks down at Percy.

Kashrima appears around the corner and holds out her hands for Percy, “don’t worry _Deaky, _I’ll take care of her.”

John strokes his familiar a few more times before handing her off to Kash, “thank you. Percy, behave.”

_You behave. _She shoots back.

He smiles. At least she seems energetic and her wing hadn’t felt broken, just sprained. John looks back to Jer.

“John!” Roger calls, “you’ve _got _to see this photo of Freddie.”

“No! No, he doesn’t!”

“We can talk about it later?” John asks.

“Of course. Enjoy the night with them, biscuits are on the counter,” Jer yawns, “but you must excuse me.”

Right. It was nearing one in the morning. John sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. A gesture that makes Jer smile fondly at him.

“We’ll go to bed soon?”

“No worries, one of you will have to share with Fa – Freddie and then two can fit in the guest room.”

He smiles tightly. As if they’re going to split apart after tonight. He thinks back to the inspector’s words. That these people weren’t looking for things to steal, that they wanted to hurt one of them. John can’t image who they’d want to hurt, none of them are active enough in their covens to be a target of them, other than being the sons of matriarchs. Brian is a _human, _well, he is mostly human.

Whatever has been haunting Brian couldn’t have manifested in the physical world. It’s attached to Brian, not any object.

Roger peaks around the corner and makes a grabby hand. Jer smiles kindly and hurries back up the stairs. John walks to greet Roger with a brief kiss.

“Percy okay?”

“As okay as she can be.”

“Do you think that’s why you got sick at the party?” Roger tilts his head.

“No,” John frowns, “Percy had already been hurt, I was anxious, but whatever illness it was passed by once we left.”  
Roger leans into his chest, “what’s going on John? Freddie’s vision and your feelings, not to mention Brian’s –“ Roger gestures wildly.

“We’ll figure it out, and we’ll be fine.”

Roger shakes his head, “I want to believe you, but until Freddie gives the all-clear or things stop _happening...”_

John brings him into a hug. He cups the back of Roger’s head. Nothing is making sense, everything points to something going after Brian, but until he knows why and who, they can’t do anything to protect him. Roger starts shaking in his grasp. John feels their bond spark to life, the vibrations match Roger’s shaking. He can’t separate the emotions fast enough but he can feel _fear. _

They sway, his hand tracing down Roger’s back. Now that he has allowed Roger’s bond to activate the other two have their own bonds spinning wildly. Well, Freddie’s is. Brian’s is practically flat. John carefully prods at it, but he doesn’t get a reaction. He frowns. Earlier tonight, even having the bonds muted as he usually does… no, he had felt Freddie and Roger having fun.

John tightens his grip around Roger. His eyes dart side to side as he tries to think. No, he shakes his head, Brian is just exhausted. Even as flat as the bond feels, he would have noticed such a drastic shift like that.

“John?” Roger whispers.

“Nothing, my love.”

Roger pouts, “let’s go talk to Freddie and Brian and figure out sleeping arrangements –“

“John, Roger, talk some sense into Birdie, here,” Freddie marches into the hallway, “he thinks he should sleep alone.”

John prods at the bond again and gets no reaction. He glances at Brian who has his arms crossed and eyebrow raised. The perfect picture of that Brian May annoyance John likes to see. Except… John focuses on the bond he isn’t feeling any of it. John knows he isn’t annoyed.

He looks down at Roger, who while shaking less still has his bond jumping in terror. Acting like something is fine is one thing, but acting like you’re feeling something is something else entirely.

“You really want to sleep alone after everything?” John asks.

Roger turns in his grasp.

Brian nods, “my nightmares are going to be bad tonight. I figured you want the sleep.”

John shakes his head automatically and Roger tenses up in his lap, “no! Of course not. Birdie, we want to help you.”

“Letting me sleep alone _is” _Brian counters, “I’d feel worse knowing I keep waking you all up.”

“Brian…”

“There’s not another guest room!” Freddie blurts.

“But you three are going to sleep together, in Fred’s room?”

Freddie deflates.

Brian grabs Freddie’s hands and glances up at Roger and John. John bites his lips, they’re not going to win this argument, because Brian will always pull the card that they’re not letting him be independent enough. He sighs, he doesn’t want that headache.

“I’ll be next door. If it gets that bad, you’ll hear me, but I imagine it’ll be a lot of jerky waking up,” Brian says softly.

Roger rubs the back of John’s hand, “but we rarely sleep together anymore.”

Brian shrugs, “it’ll blow over.”

John feels the fear of both Roger and Freddie jump an octave. He wants to call Brian out on this, but Roger might actually throw him out of the window. Roger’s aversion to telling Brian the truth makes a pit grow in his stomach, and it grows larger each time something like this happens. Knowledge is the best way to combat fate. Freddie knows this, but he still agrees with Roger and his prophecy.

“Well, if you want to come to us,” Freddie says slowly, sadly, “then we’ll be right next door.”

Some of the tension unravels in his heart when Brian smiles. The bond loosens but remains flat. At least he is still getting some feedback.

They quickly bid Brian a good night. Freddie hops into the shower because showering helps him calm down. John keeps half a mind on Brian and watches Freddie’s bond periodically. Roger curls up next to him, practically on top of him. He strokes the blond locks.

“I can’t – we can’t – lose him.”

John nods, “we won’t. Whatever this is, won’t win.”

Roger’s watery blue eyes look at him. He kisses Roger’s forehead before laying back down. John can feel the protection seals in the house. It’s the Bulsara residence. Nothing should get through, they use heavier magic than John could ever manage. Something would be very desperate or very powerful to attempt to take something in the matriarch’s house.

John smiles grimly at the ceiling. If whatever it is tries, then they’ll have narrowed it down to one of those things. Not that it particularly inspires confidence in him, either of those things could harm Brian and the rest of them very easily. He vows that he’ll draw his last breath before they accomplish their goals, and if they accomplish their goals he imagines that he’ll have drawn his last breath regardless.

Freddie climbs into bed on the other side of him. John gives token grumbles about Freddie’s hair getting his t-shirt soaked. He feels Freddie hum and soon he feels both Roger and Freddie’s bond level out to indicate that they’ve fallen asleep.

Sleep is harder for him, but after 245 sheep, he drifts off uneasily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or talk to me on tumblr!


	9. What are these troubled and weary skies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm excited to get a read on how the story is developing!

Freddie isn’t certain what woke him. He waits for a moment, seeing if it was a vision, but in the past, they have manifested in his dreams. John isn’t in bed with them, he realizes. He lifts his head, but the joined bathroom isn’t lit up.

_Must be checking on our songbird._

His head drops back down to his pillow when he hears a shout.

“Roger!”

Roger blinks at him but then wakes up when Freddie flings his legs over the side of the bed. John is in Brian’s room. He doesn’t need full access to their bonds to know that John is scared. If John sounds scared, then something awful – unimaginably terrifying must be happening right now.

“Roger! Get your ass in here!”

Roger picks up his pace sliding past Freddie into the door frame and practically launching himself on the bed.

Freddie peaks around Roger’s blond hair as the room fills with green light. He doesn’t know much healing magic, but he can augment Roger’s if he needs to. What he was expecting, he doesn’t know; Brian laying completely still, with shallow breaths wasn’t it, however. He glances at Brian’s face and he sees how pale he is. Worst still, there’s a mark just below his jaw. It almost mimics a hickey, except he knows they haven’t left any in the past few weeks.

It was left by whatever attacked Brian.

He thinks about what leaves marks like that and his stomach sinks. Freddie moves closer to John, who is visibly shaking. He wraps around John’s neck and puts his weight on him as though he is a weighted blanket. John’s shaking only grows worse before he starts sobbing.

Freddie superstitiously checks Brian again. He is breathing, still shallowly. His breathing is growing stronger as Roger’s magic starts to take root. Sweat beads at the blond’s temple and mats down his bangs. Freddie reaches out and feeds a trace amount of magic to Roger. His arms stop shaking at least. He also sends soothing pulses into John which only makes his sobs quieter; Freddie knows it does nothing for his mental anguish.

He can only imagine what it was that John walked in and saw. What he could have thought for those few moments it took him and Roger to wake up and respond. Freddie looks up when the hallway light comes on. Jer presses a hand to her mouth. Freddie doesn’t want to leave John, but he has so many questions.

With a quick kiss to the back of John’s neck, he separates from him. Roger looks up, but then back down at where is funneling life magic back into Brian. John grabs Brimi’s hand and mumbles something.

Freddie steps into the hallway, squinting as his eyes adjust.

“Mâmân?”

“I don’t know what could have gotten in,” she says, “something old. Dark. Very powerful. What has Brian gotten in bed with?”

If this was another day, and Freddie was more certain of his mother’s reaction, he would have made a joke. Instead, all he can do is shrug.

“Nothing. I don’t know of anything. Brimi – Brian doesn’t even believe in witchcraft. Accidentally getting involved seems…”

“Implausible,” Jer finishes.

Freddie looks back at the room, “what was it?”

“I believe English witches call them Drude. John knows.”

“Drude?”

“A servant of the realm of evil dreams,” Jer says.

“They attack people having nightmares?”

Jer purses her lips, “they cause nightmares and then attack. They steal the life force.”

Freddie hugs himself tightly. All this time, they thought it was because Brian was having nightmares about the things that he saw, not that something was causing them.

“How’d it even get attached to him?”

“You said he sees spirits? Perhaps he is more attached to that world than we could have guessed.”

It sounds impossible. Clairvoyants only _see_ things, they don’t traipse around in other worlds. Freddie thinks about the vision he had: **_“It’s broken. How odd.” Gray smoke. A figure wrapped in black satin. Hovering. It reaches. Black satin keeps the entity together._**

“Are Drudes – what do Drudes look like?”

“The myths change, some say they are shadows, and some say they are dressed in them.”

Freddie staggers back.

“Have you seen this?”

“Maybe, mâmân, can I go back with them? Please.”

“Of course, darling, we can settle things in the daylight.”

With that, he bolts back into Brian’s room. He grabs John’s free hand squeezing hard. John looks up at him with tears in his eyes and shaking his head.

“We almost – right after I swore – gods above and below.”

“Let’s only invoke a few of those, dearest Deaky.”

The green light fades and Roger slumps over Brian’s chest. Freddie frowns when Brian doesn’t stir, but the breathing sounds stronger. He moves around so that he can rest two fingers against Brian’s throat. The pulse is fluttery but strong and he rests his hand back at his side. Freddie squeezes John’s shoulder and gets to work rearranging Roger into a more comfortable position for his spine. He smiles softly when Brian automatically curls up next Roger.

They lace their hands together. John leans against him with a soul-weary sigh.

“What do we do?”

_I don’t know._

“We wait, and then we protect him from whatever it is when it comes back.”

* * *

“We have to tell him,” John blurts.

Freddie looks up from where he has been stirring the tea for the past four minutes. The sugar is well dissolved by now. He isn’t entirely sure the tea is hot anymore. Sleep hadn’t come to any of them, but they had tried, each taking turns watching over Brian. He feels like he aged a week in the past seven hours. Brian still hasn’t woken up.

It is Roger’s watch now.

“What about Roger?” Freddie asks quietly.

“I don’t… prophecies are usually not… what they say,” John says carefully.

“That is true,” Freddie says.

If it is a proper prophecy then it is vague enough that no matter how the future twists and turns, it will always apply. He doesn’t know who had given Winnifred the prophecy, but it sounds like a true prophecy.

“But, if this is going to be a problem, then Brian should be prepared.”

“That is also true.”

“He isn’t a normal seer and he needs to defend himself. You saw what happened.”

“If he doesn’t have the proper protection…” Freddie adds.

_A Drude_. Freddie hasn’t worked up the courage to ask John what exactly a Drude is. He is still trying to grasp what happened last night: Brian nearly dying not even thirty meters away from them. Freddie pushes the cup away from him and he buries his head in his hands and rubs down his face. How had things gone so poorly?

“Roger is the one you’ll have to convince,” Freddie says.

John glances up, “you agree with me?”

“I don’t think I have many choices. We’ve tried Roger’s way for long enough and it’s getting worse.”

John lets out a long breath in relief, “I had thought you would be the one to convince. You know what the prophecy means?”

Freddie shakes his head, “no. I’m not an interpreter.”

John stands up and dumps his own tea in the sink before pouring himself a new cup. He doctors it up but doesn’t stir and sets it back down on the counter. Freddie idly moves the spoon with his finger. John doesn’t even notice.

“Shit,” John whispers.

“John?”

The bassist stands and starts pacing around the kitchen. Freddie rests his head on his palm. He doesn’t know what to do to help John. It’s because of Brian, but he has no idea what he would feel if he had walked in on a scene like that. Not being able to tell Brian is alive with one glance. John stops and drops down so he can rest his elbows on his knees and tug on his hair.

“John?” Freddie calls a little louder.

“I don’t understand. I don’t get what is happening.”

Freddie drops down next to him. He places one hand on John’s back and rubs it up and down. What can he say?

“We’ll talk to Roger when he comes down,” Freddie says, “we’ll make him see that we need to tell Brian.”

“We’re running out of time.”

Freddie makes a noise of confusion.

“The attacks are escalating. Next time I have a feeling will be something we can’t fix. Not with your vision or my magic or Roger’s healing.

He had noticed that trend. Freddie hadn’t wanted to voice it out loud in case that is what is happening. Speaking things gives power. And whatever _this _is, it’s already strong enough to go around everything they’ve done.

They hear footsteps. Roger enters the kitchen; his hair is pulled into a messy ponytail and dark circles are vivid under his eyes. He looks as bad as Freddie feels.

“How is he?” Freddie asks, “how are you?”

Roger sits down at the counter. He chews on the skin around his fingernails, and Freddie doesn’t react until he starts pulling hangnails off them. His fingers are red. Freddie grabs them and kisses the tips. The action feels exhausted and mechanical.

“Still asleep,” Roger mumbles.

Freddie lets his hands go and he wraps them around his cup, which is still cold. John stands up from where he had been curled up. Roger jumps as though he hadn’t noticed John hiding behind the counter. He watches John dump the cup down the sink again and pours himself a new cup. Then he grabs another cup and pours Roger one. John is exact in his measurements with Roger's drink. It takes him twice as long as normal because he keeps scraping the sugar from his spoon and refilling it.

“I’m fine,” Roger answers.

Freddie nods, but he doesn’t believe it. If Roger _isn’t _lying, then Freddie might have issues.

“He is breathing easier,” Roger says, “his life force feels stronger”

John sets the cup down in front of Roger, “that’s good.”

“He’s still asleep though.”

Had he already said that? Freddie rubs his eyes and then goes back to spinning the cup around in his hands. Freddie looks up at John who is at least messing with his tea this time. He runs his finger over the lip of the cup.

“We’ve got to tell Brian,” John says.

“Tell ‘im what?” Roger mutters.

“About everything. Us. Witches. The fact that he’s not hallucinating? Or broken or whatever is he thinks of himself.”

Freddie winces. They should have told Brian the truth for that alone, but he had been afraid like Roger. He had been waiting for Brian for most of his life, and he hadn’t wanted to ruin that.

“You know what the prophecy says,” Roger says.

John shrugs, “but not what will happen.”

“Does it matter? Bad things will happen.”

“Bad things _are _happening,” John shoots back, “he was about fifteen seconds from _dying.”_

“And we tell him and ‘the end’ comes?” Roger says.

“Is Brian suffering for _what-ifs_ that worth it to you?”

“Is him dying because of a _guess_ worth it to you?”

He knows he should step in, stop them from fighting. Their yelling is going to wake up the rest of the household. Freddie values his mother’s opinions, but he doesn’t want them butting in when it is so involved in their relationship.

“We’ve tried your way!” John says.

Roger stands up, red building in his face, “so this is my fault, that’s what you’re saying?”

“No!”

“Sounds like it,” Roger shoots back louder, “because it was my idea, it is the reason Brian is like this?”

“Roger,” John sighs.

“No, stick with it, _John_.”

Roger crosses around the table, “tell me how our relationship is in shambles because of me. Do it, John!”

John stands up so that he is chest to chest with Roger, “okay fine. That’s what you want?”

Freddie perks up, “let’s not fight now.”

“No,” John says, “he wants to hear it, then fine.”

“If we hadn’t kept this a secret, then Brian would not have spent these few months living in fear of his own shadow. He wouldn’t have thought himself crazy and he wouldn’t have thought we were going to send him to a hospital. Brian doesn’t trust us so he keeps secrets from us, and we’re keeping the largest secret about himself from him!”

“We’re doing it to protect him!” Roger shouts.

“And so were his parents!”

Roger recoils. Freddie’s grip on the teacup tightens and he moves to interrupt them.

“You’re no better than them! Thinking that you know better than Brian does!”

John pushes into Roger’s space, and Roger pushes John back. Freddie jumps in between them, “both of you!”

“Don’t act like you’re better than me!” Roger spits, “you went along with this too!”

“But I’m not holding on to it!”

Freddie pushes Roger back before turning to focus on keeping John at bay. Roger’s face is flushed, and even John’s cheeks are starting to heat up. Freddie places one hand on John’s chest.

“It’s because of you that I can’t feel him anymore!”

“Honestly, please calm down!” Freddie raises his voice.

“You’re going to kill him!” John shouts.

Roger’s mouth drops open and then clicks his tongue before turning and storming through the other doorway. Freddie turns to him reaching for Roger and keeping John from following with another quip.

“John! That is enough!”

John snorts and grabs his teacup before tossing it into the sink hard enough that it chips. Freddie watches him go in the opposite direction. He closes his hand into a fist and bites his tongue hard enough that a copper tang fill his mouth.

What had just happened?

* * *

Brian doesn’t know where he’s at. It feels cold. It feels empty. He can’t see anything.

_You’re going to kill him!_

Him? Him who? Brian tilts his head, who is going to die? Who is going to be a killer?

_You’re no better than his parents!_

Whose parents? Brian stands, unsure of when he sat down. How bad were these parents? Brian raises an eyebrow. Are they talking about his parents?

The words drift past him and fade into the abyss.

* * *

_Very good. It’s time._

Brian sits up. This time wherever he is, it’s warmer. Still empty.

_He is with the coven, still._

_Not for much longer. Do you not feel him?  
_

* * *

Brian bolts upright. The lights hurt his eyes and he closes them before dropping to the bed. He presses himself into his pillow and breathes through his nose. His head _hurts. _His entire body feels as though he was run over.

_What happened? _

The last thing he remembered was coming home to their flat being ransacked. This isn’t his room, so they must have gone somewhere else, but where? Brian opens his eyes, and he’s met with a brightly colored room, décor of silver and gold. The sunlight casts strange light patterns on the wall.

He sits up, and the pain in his body is slowly fading. The pain in his head remains.

“Freddie?” He calls softly, “Roger? John? Hullo?”

“Ah, it is good you’re awake.”

Brian looks up and sees a woman in the doorway, she feels familiar.

“Er…”

“Oh, poor dear,” she coos, “after a night like yours, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”  
“Night like mine? Who are you? Where are my… flatmates?”

“I’m Jer –“

_Freddie’s mother, _he reminds himself. Brian rubs the back of his neck. His mouth feels sticky.

“I’m sorry,” Brian says, “I don’t understand what’s happening?”

“I’ll call Freddie up, right away,” Jer scurries away.

Brian stares at the wall. No matter how hard he tries, he only remembers searching for his guitar with panic. He assumes the guitar case in the corner holds Red, but he doesn’t remember finding her or showing up at Freddie’s parent’s house. Brian knows that he hadn’t had _that_ much to drink.

“Birdie,” Freddie breathes, “how are you?”

“Confused,” he says honestly, “Freddie, what’s going on?”

“Well, we stayed with my parents’ because our flat got broken into.”

Freddie steps into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. His hand grips Brian and rubs his thumb across his knuckles. He focuses on the touch and it grounds him. His mind feels like it’s stopped spiraling.

“I can’t remember last night. Why?” Brian looks up.

“Shock, probably,” Freddie looks away from him.

“Fred, what happened?” Brian says.

“You argued with us about sleeping arrangements, and came in here and passed out,” Freddie gives a one-shouldered shrug.

Brian sighs, “Freddie, stop lying to me.”

“I’m not…lying.”

“You’re hiding something,” Brian counters.

Freddie clutches his chest, as though he is upset by the accusation, but his eyes stay firmly on the wall. Brian tightens his jaw. He wants to shake Freddie until he gives him the truth.

“John and Roger had a spat,” Freddie says after a moment, “a pretty bad one, and you haven’t been awake. It the stress, darling, and you know how much I hate to be stressed.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Brian mutters.

He swings his legs over the side and as he stands his legs give out on him. Brian cries out as he smacks his head against the nightstand. His hand goes to it, and when it becomes warm and sticky, he pulls it away.

“Oh, dear!” Freddie kneels next to him.

“No! Don’t touch me,” Brian says, “not until you give me the full truth. Why do I feel so weak?”

He does know one thing that Freddie said that’s true, “was Roger and John’s fight about me? About what happened last night?”

“Birdie, we need to get that cleaned up…”

Brian uses the nightstand to reach his feet. His legs are shaking, far more than they should for something as simple as dehydration or a hangover. For a moment he is afraid he hit his head harder than he thought because his vision doubles. He reaches his fingers up to his cheeks and feels wetness. Freddie looks up at him with a parted mouth.

“I can take care of myself,” Brian says, “talk to me when you actually want to explain what the hell is going on.”

“Birdie…”

“Don’t call me that,” Brian snaps, and then quieter, “please leave me alone.”

Freddie stands and backs away from him. Brian takes one shaky step forward. His legs are holding up his body weight, if barely. He takes another look at Freddie, who rests on the balls of his feet, prepared to catch him if he falls. The gesture is appreciated if not welcomed.

“I’ll have Kash or someone come check on you in a bit?”

“Don’t bother,” Brian says.

Slowly he shuffles out of the bedroom and down the hall. It hits him that only then does he realizes that he doesn’t know where anything is in the house. Brian peaks into various rooms while leaning against the wall when he could or using the tables as support. At the end of the hallway, he finds the bathroom.

When he turns the corner, he sees Freddie watching him and he struggles to keep his face neutral against the sudden irritation that washes against him. Brian knows something is wrong, but he doesn’t know what. He steps into the bathroom and shuts the door. Locking it for an added measure of safety.

He means to wash his face from the sweat he feels clinging to his skin, along with the tackiness from the blood. Perhaps he hadn’t gotten a restful sleep, plagued by forgotten nightmares? Brian turns on the faucet and sticks his hands underneath it, but the cold water sends him stumbling into the door.

A face hovers above him, only the mouth and eyes are visible from a hood. The eyes are darker than anything he has ever seen before, with a tiny pinprick of white light, growing brighter with each moment. The mouth is open, but it looks as though it is only the top jaw and the tongue hangs out. He feels it brush against his cheek.

As the light grows brighter, he feels himself growing weaker. He thrashes against the bed.

_John. John. John. _He chants, as though John can somehow feel his distress. The tongue is pressed against his lips so he can’t scream. He feels so weak that he doesn’t know that he could scream if there was no obstacle.

Dark blue light fills the room, it becomes lighter and lighter with each second. It matches the growth of the brightness of the eyes.

_John. John. John._

Brian gasps and looks down at his hand. He has a perfect ring of teeth marks on his palm, they start beading with dark red. When he looks up there is no being above him. No hallucination. Instead, he is greeted with a square light fixture that flickers ominously. He is in the bathroom.

The bathroom in Freddie’s mom’s house. Where he stayed the night last night. Where he knows Freddie is at. He doesn’t know where Roger and John are.

_John. John. John. _

Why has he only called for John? Brian closes his eyes and forced himself to pull in a long drag of air. It feels like his headache has grown more intense. Like something is pushing against the back of his skull.

No!  
He covers the back of his head with his hands and interlocks his hands. The sting in his palm reminds him that he’s here. In a bathroom. The bathroom in Freddie’s parents’ house. Where he stayed the night last night. Freddie is just down the hall. He doesn’t know where Roger and John are.

He only called for John.

Brian closes his eyes and pushes back against the pressure.

He is here. In a bathroom. The bathroom in Freddie’s parent’s house. Where he stayed last night. Freddie was down the hall. John and Roger had an argument.

Why did Roger and John have an argument?

Brian feels his hands shake against his hair.

He is here. In a bathroom. The bathroom in Freddie’s parents’ house. Where he stayed last night. Freddie is down the hall.

His breathing is coming easier now. He feels more real, but the vision or dream or whatever the hell that was – still haunts him. Brian knows that he has never seen anything like that before. It felt like it was holding him down. Killing him. Or trying to. His therapist once said that they could manifest like that: waking him up in the middle of the night with him unable to respond to it.

His medication? Where was it? Had he brought it last night? He remembers grabbing red. Red is in the room, or he hopes she is.

Brian attempts to stand again, but his knees feel like they’re locked in place. The blood from the injury on his forehead – _oh yeah, he hit his head – _starts leaking into his eye. He relaxes the grip on his head to swipe at the blood only to smear the blood on his palm as well. It does feel like its clotting at all. He wipes the blood on his trousers.

He stays like that. Swiping the blood when he starts to get too much in his eyes. Eventually, the blood does stop leaking from the wounds and he spends a few moments picking at the sticky surface. Brian swallows again and attempts to find his footing. This time his knees work, and his legs aren’t shaking.

The weakness still lingers, but he imagines it is from the adrenaline crash and he doesn’t remember the last time he ate something. His stomach turns at the thought of food. So no eating again for another few hours. Slowly he crosses the three steps to the sink, where he can view himself in the mirror.

His forehead and eye are stained red, but the rest of his skin is deathly pale, the only color besides the blood is the dark circles under his eyes and a strange finger-shaped spot on his neck. Brian pokes at his cheeks, which seem sunken. He shakes his head and turns the tap on, this time making sure that the warm water is completely on. It scalds his fingertips, but he cups the water and splashes it onto his face.

Once more his vision is blurred and the heat of the water _hurts, _but a distant twinge, like remembering a broken bone. His face is red from the hot water, but it is clean. The color doesn’t make him look less alive, but he doesn’t look like he is actively dying.

Brian grips his chest. His heart feels as though it is working double time, and he presses his palm flat against it, the skin still radiating warmth. It feels nice, and only then does he realize how cold he feels. Maybe he can slip back under the covers of his bed without anyone asking him questions. Freddie knows to stay away from the time being.

He touches the door handle and jumps back at the slight electric shock. _What? _When the handle doesn’t shock him again, he turns it quietly. Something in him makes him swing the door open rapidly.

“Ow!”

“John?” Brian whispers.

John peaks out from behind the door, rubbing his nose.

“Sorry,” Brian says, “did you need to…”

“No,” John shakes his head.

Brian tilts his head.

“You’ve been in there for over an hour,” John says.

“Oh. Why didn’t you knock?”

“I did…”

Brian shakes his head. He doesn’t remember hearing any knocks. Then again, he doesn’t know where his head had been. _With whatever that creature was, _he thinks. For a second he almost tells John, but then a sudden wave of panic hits him and he falls back into the bathroom and shuts the door.

“Brian!” John yells.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t mind that… what’s going on?”

He presses his lips together, “I feel sick.”

It isn’t a _lie. _Not like John’s flimsy excuse last night.

“Oh, all right, I’ll ask Jer about medicine.”

He forgets that there is a door between them, and nods. When he hears the footsteps move away from the door, Brian finds himself lunging towards the toilet. He coughs and sputters into the bowl. Nothing comes up but his body keeps convulsing for several more minutes. Brian rubs his lips with the back of his hand.

The roll of toilet paper is nearly empty, but he tears a square from it to rub off the spit from the back of his hand. There are tiny streaks of red. His heart squeezes, and he leans back over the bowl, coughing pathetically. His throat is raw, and his body is shaking with the effort to keep himself upright.

More red appears in the bowl. Brian shakes his head and flushes that and the tissue paper down the toilet. No one but him has to know. It’s probably from rubbing his throat raw. There wasn’t enough there for him to be worried. If it happens again, then he’ll say something. That in mind, he slowly pulls himself back up by using the edge of the sink. He prays he doesn’t pull the basin off the stand.

Brian leans heavily against the wall. His entire body feeling as though he is a guitar string pulled too tight. He washes his hands, against using water that is likely too hot for him. Shaking them into the basin he rubs it against the towel.

This time he opens the door slowly, making sure that no one is behind it before stepping out into the open hallway. He shivers and pulls his arms tightly to his chest.

“I don’t care John!” Roger screeches.

He jumps back, hitting the wall. Brian hopes that they hadn’t heard him.

“Really? Things have changed! Whatever that attack was last night? It’s woken Brian up!”

Brian frowns. Isn’t he already awake?

“Accidental magic? John, he’s an adult, that doesn’t happen!”

“Then explain why there was a barrier protecting the bathroom! His magic is too wild!”

“Roger, dearest,” _Freddie, _“Brian is like a child when it comes to magic. He doesn’t know how to handle it.”  
_Magic? What on earth are they on about? _Brian peers around the corner. He is sure that John and Roger are chest to chest in their argument.

Only.

Brian stares.

There is no one in the hallway.

“So what, we go up and tell him that he’s –”

** _MiNe._ **

Breath ghosts across the back of his neck. Brian turns around, but the only thing behind him is the bathroom. He rubs his neck and shakes his head. Auditory hallucinations. Probably. He is just exhausted from last night’s poor sleep. That and getting sick. He’s probably so cold because he has a fever.

Brian nods to himself and shakily wanders back to his bedroom. At least the bedroom he has been staying in.

For the first time in his life, he’s afraid these hallucinations are real and that they’re trying to kill him.

* * *

They have been at the Bulsara residence for a week. Brian would say that John and Roger have gone icy around each other, except he can still hear them shouting at each other. Sometimes even before breakfast. He helps Freddie, admittedly distractedly and unwillingly, search for a new place to live.

No matter how much they aren’t agreeing these days, they all agree that a change in residence is exactly what they need. Brian doesn’t want to step one more foot into their former flat. He will so that he can make sure the movers have gotten everything including his missing necklace. He rubs at the spot where it usually would be at.

“You’re impossible! The pair of you!”

Brian lifts his head from where his arms are cross. Freddie has joined the yelling. He snorts. It is no wonder all of them haven’t gone after each other’s throats yet.

Jer sighs sadly, “matter of the hearts are rarely the clearest but always the most honest.”

“I suppose if you aren’t lying then you're honest.”

“That is one way at looking at it,” Jer replies.

She takes the cup away from him. He hadn’t drunk anything, but she leaves his uneaten bean toast on his plate. Brian pokes at it and hesitantly sticks bean in his mouth, but his stomach protests even that singular piece so he sets his fork back down. Jer ignores his weak attempt and sits back down.

“And have you been honest? Nothing weighing on your heart?”

Brian shakes his head. There’s so much he wants to say, but the words keep getting stuck in this throat. Out of everything, losing the band. The boys. He doesn’t want that, but he has no idea why they’re fighting, only that he suspects it has something to do with him and Halloween. Perhaps he has finally become too much trouble.

“I’ve always found moving a single rock from the pile is quicker than moving the pile at a time,” Jer says.

“What?” Brian frowns.

“Mâmân, don’t confuse poor Brian,” Kash says.

She winces as the yelling becomes louder, but the words cannot be made out. She pours her own cup of tea.

“What she means,” Kash smiles, “is that you shouldn’t try to solve all of your problems at one time. Pick the smallest or the easiest, or whichever first. Then move to the next.”

Brian nods, “I suppose that makes sense.”

The house goes eerily silent, “but how do I solve that?”

Kash looks up the ceiling as though she can see what Freddie and the others are doing.

“That’s… their own matter,” Jer replies.

“Is it?” Kash asks, “I mean, Brian _should _know.”

“Know what?” Brian perks up.

“What they’re fighting about,” Kash replies.

He doesn’t know how involved he wants to get with that mess. Even if it is about him, he’s used to having to defend himself against choices that are made for him. Brian doesn’t want to, but if he must then at least he knows how.

“Brian, can I see your hand?”

Kash holds out hers and Brian gives his hand. She runs a finger over the lines, very similar to how Freddie had done when they first met. Brian smiles at that and it feels so long ago that he was just meeting them. He watches her finger move, and he wonders what his palm is telling her that he doesn’t know what it is saying.

“Your heart line – your love line – is very full.”

“But my lifeline is broken, I know.”

Kash purses her lips, “yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well,” Kash lets him have his hand back, “usually it indicates how long your life is.”

Brian raises an eyebrow, “so what? Like I drown and my heart stops, but then someone saves me and I’m alive?”

“Perhaps, I hope maybe it is just a childhood scar?”

He shrugs. Brian doesn’t remember hurting his hand, but his memory has always been bad, so he could’ve have injured himself there.

“Well fine! If that’s what you want!”

Brian looks towards the staircase.

“Oh my,” Jer tuts, “I’ll go check on them. Remember one thing at a time.”

Kash hums, “I’ll go with.”

They leave the kitchen and Brian lifts his fork to poke at his bean again. The meal is nearly cold, and his stomach keeps twisting uneasily. _One thing at a time, eh? _He stands and scrapes the beans into the bin before setting the dish in the sink. Quickly he rinses the plate and wanders to the edge of the kitchen. The shouting has calmed down.

What is the one thing that he could do? Right now? The one thing with the least consequences. Brian bites his cheek. Right now, he could walk out and never have to _face _the consequences. He shakes his head, even for him that’s drastic.

Brian stares down the hallway towards the entrance of the house. Near the front door, on the side hallway to the stairs, he can see a phone. He rolls his shoulders. His mouth waters as his stomach twist as though he’s going to be sick. _Could he? _

Everyone is upstairs. He has been meaning to do it.

Slowly he wanders towards the phone. Brian listens carefully. They aren’t yelling anymore, but the discussion still seems heated. Does he want to do this? Brian taps his fingers against the wall. He rubs his chest with his other hand. This _is _the only thing he can control right now.

Brian dials the number slowly, and with shaking hands.

“Hullo?” Ruth greets.

“Mum, hey,” he says softly.

“Brian, dear boy! I’ve been trying to reach you! It says your number is disconnected.”

_Oh. Right._

“We’re changing it. We’ve found a flat that is much nicer and a little cheaper than our current one,” Brian answers.

He’ll tell them about the break-in later. Once it has completely blown over, either with the perpetrator caught or too much time has passed to hope to find them.

“Mum, I’ve got something I want to tell you,” Brian rushes out.

Right now, he doesn’t want to lose his courage.

“Well, don’t forget to give us that new number,” Ruth says, Brian knows that tone.

She’s disappointed in him.

“Right.”

There is a moment of silence. The others take that moment to raise their voices again. Brian strains his ears to hear what they’re talking about it. He can’t make out anything other than his name. Which makes his stomach twist harder. He takes a sharp breath and his mouth becomes wetter.

“I’m not going back to school next semester.”

“What?” Ruth asks quietly.

“I’m putting my Ph.D. on hold,” he repeats.

“But – Brian… has something happened?”

“I want to focus on the band,” Brian says.

He turns and leans against his back against the wall. He twists his finger in the cord, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Well,” Ruth says, “I assume…”

Brian straightens.

“Good day Brian, I’ll talk to your father.”

The line goes dead. He resets the phone on the hook. Brian squats down and lets out a long breath. What had he just done? He wanted to drop out, wanted to tell his parents that he wanted to drop out, but he hadn’t decided that’s his plan. His mother might tell his father, but for now, they can’t contact him. They don’t know where he lives. It might be the best way to have broken the news. If cowardly.

His chest hurts, and he feels horrible for breaking his parents’ heart but for the first time this week, he feels… better.

* * *

Brian frowns when he finishes collapsing the last box. His new room is much larger than the one at their previous flat. He has a south-facing window and a walk-in closet which he has turned into his study, half of his clothes fit on one side of the space and the rest fit into the wardrobe. Roger had made the suggestion, stating that it would be a nice place to set up his thesis notes.

He hasn’t found his voice to tell the others that he is putting his degree on hold. Their latest sale numbers are encouraging, even if their paychecks aren’t. Not that they are _worried _about money, but Brian would like to be financially independent.

A cough forces its way past his lips. Brian grabs the cleaning rag as the cough turns into a fit. He doesn’t bother to check it as he smacks his lips to distract from the tang of blood. The rag joins a pile of other equally dirty clothes. He folds the box again and licks his lips again trying to get away from the bad taste.

He steps out of his room.

“Roger!”

Brian sighs as he pauses at the stairwell, yawning. Whatever issue Roger and John have with each other hasn’t been solved. It’s strange how these days it feels like they can’t stand each other.

“You don’t see the connection? Freddie’s visions stopping the moment you become set on this?”

“Oh, you cannot be blaming this on me.”

“You were happy to blame me!”

_Visions? _Brian bites his lip, _what are they talking about?_

“Please stopping fighting,” Freddie says with some waver to his voice, “you’ve been going in circles for nearly two weeks.”

Brian walks down the steps, taking care to not aggravate whatever chest cold he has caught. Once he hits the landing, the argument stops. He grits his teeth.

“Fighting again?” Brian asks.

All three of them look down at the carpet. Brian huffs. He isn’t sure that this anger he feels is better than the numbness from the months before but he’s tired. He is tired and he has had enough of this secrecy.

“How is the room decorating going?” Freddie asks, his voice a touch too high to be genuine.

“Finished.”

He wanders into the kitchen to drop the box onto the pile of discarded cardboard and paper. Delilah and Frankie lay in one of the uncollapsed boxes. Frankie stretches out on one of the kitchen towels. Brian scratches behind Delilah’s ears for a few moments before Frankie swats him. He scratches her head for a few moments.

“Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what the fuss is, hm?”

Delilah’s head bobs and she lets out a tiny mewl. Frankie flicks her tail at him.

“Well, thanks for that,” Brian looks around the kitchen.

A few of the dishes from his mom are scattered on the countertop, and the few towels he bought for the flat are also around. Their lives are tangled together.

“Dunno, why I bothered unpacking. I’ve got a foot half out the door.”

“Birdie,” Freddie whispers, “_no.”_

Brian shrugs. In another time he might cry or try to deny that it’s happening by laying in bed. Now it is a distant sadness.

“Yeah, well. We need to talk to each other.”

Freddie shakes his head, “Brimi.”

“It’s Brian, right now,” he says.

The singer flinches as if he had been struck. Brian sucks on his bottom lip, the skin is starting to become tender. Jer told him one thing at a time. He is making this his one thing.

“Brian, we aren’t breaking up with you.”

“But how would I know? Fred, I’ve told you to start talking to me. I’ve had enough of this,” Brian spreads his arms, “you want me to talk about my problems, but I need you to do the same!”

“We’re just…”

“Protecting me, yes,” Brian feels the fight die, “and then you say there is someone who can do it better or that you can’t and where does that leave me? No say about myself!”

His volume had picked back up. Brian hadn’t known that he felt so strongly about this.

“Well I’m having my say now,” Brian crosses his arms, “you tell me something – anything – about what has been going on –”

“Brian –”

“When I get back, if not…” takes a deep breath, “I walk.”

“That’s not –” Roger blurts

Brian hadn’t noticed them arriving, John stands behind Roger.

“Fair? Or are you going to stop me from leaving?”

Never,” Brian,” John answers, “but we’ve been arguing on _how _to tell you.”

He glances at Roger who glares at John. Then he steps into his clogs that are by the kitchen door, “well, you’ve got until I get back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave your thoughts and feelings below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	10. When I tell you my truth, will it be yours?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update day!  
This chapter is. A lot!

Brian is halfway down the street when he realizes that he hadn’t grabbed a jacket. Thankfully his wallet is in his back pocket, but the early mid-November breeze bites at him. It’ll probably rain soon too. He pats his pockets, finding the few coins he keeps for phone booths and… he pulls out an unknown object from his pocket.

The keys to their old flat.

_Hm. _He looks up and spots the telephone booth at the end of the street and back down to the keys in his hands. Brian shrugs and digs out the coins.

Someone gets into the booth a few moments before he arrives and he leans against the lamp post hoping that none of his partners decide to chase after him. He _can’t _believe he gave them those conditions, Brian doesn’t know that he wants to follow through with it either. They could find another way around it. Then he shakes his head, things would never change if he didn’t put his foot down.

He needs things to change.

Brian jumps when the doors clatter open. For a moment he stares at the gentleman exiting. His body is radiating soft gray light and his face flickers from weary tan to a skull. He chokes and the man’s face returns to that of a typical businessman.

“Pardon?” He says.

“Oh, sorry,” Brian replies, “lost in thought.”

The man rolls his eyes and murmurs something about youth before hurrying off down the street. Brian watches him and then something manifests out of his briefcase. A young boy, barely older than ten if Brian had to guess.

“Papa!” He says, “papa! Why aren’t you listening to me?”

Brian steps forward and then pulls his body back so that he stumbles against the phonebooth. The boy turns and looks at him. He is in front of him a heartbeat later.

“You can see me?” He asks, “tell papa! You have to tell papa!”

He backs away from him. Brian has had a lot of experience ignoring these visions. As he turns, the young boy flickers in front of him.

“Please!”

“I’m sorry,” Brian says, breaking every rule he has, “I can’t help you.”

“But you’re the only one that can see me!” the child yells.

The lamp post bulb bursts and Brian jumps backpedaling further away from the young boy. He looks around to see that most people are on the other side of the street, but a few have stopped to look up at the shattered bulb. Brian spares it a glance before looking back down.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

This time he sprints away from the phone booth. He keeps his eyes firmly ahead of him and takes random turns hoping to shake his pursuer. Once he runs out of breath, he leans against a brick wall next to an alleyway. Brian doubles over and places his hands on his knees. That has never happened before.

Most of the time, the visions let him be if he wasn’t distressed. He has never had an interaction like that. There was no lashing out no anger – the child had noticed him. Brian shakes his head and coughs into his sleeve, he tries to wipe it off the best that he can but it still leaves tiny red streaks. At least the fabric doesn’t show it clearly.

Brian peeks out of the alleyway and when he doesn’t see any hallucinations in front of him, he steps out. He still wants to find a phone booth, and it only takes him a few moments of wandering to the street corners to find one only a block away.

No one is using it and he slips the coin into the slot and dials – what he hopes – is the right number.

“Hello? Staffel speaking?”

“Tim!” Brian says.

“Brian? How have you been? Or rather, how have things been?”

“Not good,” Brian answers.

As much as he wants to confide in Tim, he doesn’t want to do it over the phone. He pats his pockets and touches the keys again.

“I’ll tell you about it, but do you want to take one last look at our flat with me?”

“What?”

Brian quickly explains the break-in and the quick relocation, “I want to make sure the movers have got everything, but I don’t want to go alone.”

“Oh right,” Tim says a little overwhelmed, “yeah. Do you want me to get you or meet you there?”

He thinks about it for a moment. Where is at now, wouldn’t be but a couple of minutes out Tim’s way, and he doesn’t want to take a chance of the child contacting him again when is say, crossing a road. Brian tells Tim his location and the bassist agrees to see him in a few moments. Once he hangs up he sits down in the booth.

Dragging Tim into this is something he hadn’t wanted to do. Especially knowing what he does now about the bassist, but Brian doesn’t know who else to go to. Any of his other friends wouldn’t be the type to drop everything and Tim knows about him. Mostly accepts him too, even if he had been an ass about it in the past.

Brian rests one arm over his eyes and tries to not cry. Instead, he coughs weakly, but thankfully, this time, nothing comes up.

A sharp knock on the door startles him. Brian has an apology ready and looks up.

“Tim, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Tim pulls him into a hug, “tell me what you want on the drive over.”

Brian nods.

He climbs into the passenger seat but doesn’t speak. There are too many thoughts rattling around in his head for him to be able to articulate any of them. After a minute of driving, Tim reaches over to turn on the radio. It plays one of Elton John’s songs. Brian listens to the soft crooning of the piano and watches as the buildings go by.

Half an hour later, Brian and Tim find a parking spot a few blocks from his old flat.

“So we looking for anything in particular?” Tim says, “or are we going to talk about anything?”

“Just making sure the movers didn’t forget anything,” Brian repeats.

He takes off down the street. Tim following at his hip. The closer they get to the old flat, the more Brian regrets his choice to come. Even the street feels dark. Brian looks past Tim and into one of the paths between the homes it is let up like a sepia photo, and he sees a child chasing a ring with a stick. The lighting fades and Brian rubs his eyes.

“Brian?”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, mate,” Tim says, “I just want to make sure that you’re alright?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Brian says.

Tim makes a noise of confusion.

“It feels like my Thing is getting worse, but not in ways that it has in the past,” Brian says, “there’s no reason! Then Freddie, Roger, and John are deciding to keep their lips sealed.”

“About what?”  
“I don’t know!”

Brian hears his voice break and only a heartbeat after that do the tears come. Tim touches him with on hand and Brian shakes it off. He doesn’t want to be touched right now.

“Bri, wanna go sit down somewhere?” Tim asks.

He nods and sniffles, pressing his palms to his eyes, “yeah.”

“Your flat is only a little bit away. Let's go there, okay?”

Again he nods and when he feels Roger’s – no Tim’s hand wrap around his arm he allows himself to be led. The tears are blurring his vision and he keeps swiping at them, making the skin irritated and painful worse when the tears touch it and worse when brushes against it. He stumbles up the stairs to his flat, their old door temporarily in place, and the few remaining strands of police tape blow in the wind.

“Key, Brian?”

He digs around in his pocket, thankfully Tim grabs it from his shaking hand before he could drop it and it falls into the bushes below. The door opens with a familiar whine (they should have put a different type of oil on the hinges he knows) and he’s met with an even chillier gust of wind.

“Jeez, your landlord keep the AC on?” Tim laughs.

“Maybe it was for the officers?” Brian shrugs.

“Dunno,” Tim replies, “so again, we looking for anything specific?”

“Uh,” Brian shrugs.

He doesn’t want to tell Tim what he’s looking for. It’d probably earn him some good ribbing, especially because of what he told him outside.

“I just want to make sure that the movers didn’t leave anything,” Brian replies.

“Oh, sure.” Tim clears his throat, “and about what happened outside?”  
Brian rubs his eyes wincing at the sting. His fit had settled quickly, and Brian looks to the wall in shame. He hasn’t planned anything out, it makes his chest tight and he wants to just know what is going to happen at every turn.

“I told them that if they didn’t start talking to me that I would leave them… I regret it.” He shouldn’t have been so extreme.

“Good for you.”  
Brian looks up, “what?”

Tim smiles softly, “I know how that sounds coming from me, but it’s good you finally stood up for yourself.”  
Brian sighs, “then why do I feel so awful?”

“Because it was hard? You’re stressed? Plenty of things,” Tim replies.

He doesn’t know if that’s the case. Brian truthfully wants them to work it out, and he doesn’t want to walk back his statement, because he _had _meant it. He doesn’t want to have to go through with it though.

“The ball is in their court,” Tim replies.

Brian stares at his hand, unsure of why he had spoken that aloud.

“Brian, you can’t be miserable and afraid in your relationship just because you love a person.”

It makes sense. He hates that it does because if it hadn’t he could continue on.

“Let’s split up and look,” Brian replies, “the big stuff, frames and wardrobes are the landlord’s.”  
He hurries upstairs while he hopes that Tim takes the bottom floor. Brian stays away from their bedroom and rushes into his. It looks strange, only to see the mattress frame and the wardrobe. The emptiness makes him shiver and he walks further into the room, pushing the closet door shut for now.

Where his vanity had been the wall shows a thin line of dust, and a few miscellaneous things lay forgotten underneath it a guitar pick, a few pencils, an earring back. Brian picks up a bead and tries to remember where it came from. He thinks it might be from the time he snapped one of Roger’s necklaces when he was a little too eager to get into the bed.

Brian smiles faintly at the memory. While it was only a few months ago it feels like a year ago. He bends down to pick up the tiny clay piece. It rolls in his palm. The guitar pick looks like one of John’s.

Putting both into his pocket he stands and faces the closet. He clears his throat, which triggers a coughing fit. He wipes some of the spittle from around his mouth and then rubs the back of his hand on his pants pocket. Brian needs to get over this chest cold before they start having gigs on the regular again.

They had stopped because finals were nearing and once again Brian feels guilty for not telling them. His breathing becomes easier and he moves to the closet. The door jerks like it is caught on something.

“Huh?”

He looks down. Tangled underneath the door is his necklace! Brian crouches again and carefully extracts the jewelry, “how’d you get there?”

Then he shakes his head. _As I thought. It got tossed around during the break in. _The chain is extremely cold to the touch. He lets it pool in his palm, and then begins to unclasp it. For a moment he hesitates.

“The downstairs looks clear!”

Tim’s voice startles him. He tucks the necklace in his other pocket, aware that he is going to have to spend far too long untangling it later. Although having it back makes him rest easier.

“Great! I’ll be done up here shortly!”

Brian does check his closet and under the bed frame before moving to the other rooms. The bathroom is empty save for a few containers of beauty products that were mostly used up anyway, Brian tosses those into a bag he finds under the sink. He sets those by the staircase before going towards their bedroom. Brian’s hands shake as he pushes open the door.

It doesn’t look any different, but it feels so much worse being in here. He checks the closet first, finding nothing but a few fallen sequins and tufts of fur. One of Roger’s hats is forgotten on the top shelf in the corner. He grabs it and tucks it into his back pocket. Satisfied that it’s the only thing left of importance in the closet he turns back around to the bedroom.

Most of the dresser drawers are kept partially open, but Brian still goes through them. He finds a few coins and a tube of dried eyeliner which he leaves on the dresser in a reminder to add it to the garbage bag. The nightstand also yields similar results, a compact mirror and a few cough drops.

“Really?” He sighs.

He goes over to the second nightstand which he finds has a much more interesting piece of their life left behind. It’s a photograph, not taken by him, which has the four of them relaxing after one of their shows. Barely he can see where his feet are resting on John’s thigh. Freddie’s head is on his shoulder and Roger is reaching over, one hand carefully wrapped around his wrist.

Brian flips it over, and there’s no note or mention on the back about when or where this was taken. The lighting is lovely. He wonders why he had never seen this before when he peaks back into the dress and sees a card. Cautiously he picks up the paper and opens it.

> _Happy Christmas, Bri!_
> 
> _I hope we’ve made you as happy this year as you have made us! Love you desperately._
> 
> _With all my heart,_
> 
> _Roger._

He closes his eyes and attempts to fight back the burn of tears. Brian sniffles again. As he clears his throat and opens his eyes, he realizes what drew Roger to this photo (Brian wonders how he found it), the lighting is natural if slightly dark and the edges are soft with most of the focus going onto their bodies. It is very similar to his own style.

_Roger paid that much attention? _Or perhaps, as Brian stares at it, he was naturally drawn to a similar style. He runs his thumb over the glass. How he wishes they could go back to this.

A knock on the door startles him.

“Bri, hey – what’s wrong?”

He lifts up the frame as though that was an answer. Tim walks over to him, standing next to his shoulder and peaking over too look at the frame.

“S’good, you guys look great.”

“It was a Christmas present, or meant to be one,” Brian says softly.

Tim rubs a hand up his back, “they love you.”

“Yeah,” Brian says, “maybe I should…”

“They’ve got to respect you though,” Tim shakes his head, “and who says, that if they don’t tell you whatever it is now, that they won’t in the future. You can always try again.”

“I don’t think I could.”

Tim gives him a sad smile, “as I said, you don’t deserve to be miserable.”

“I’ll be miserable either way.”

“Then which way will you be happiest with?” Tim replies, “I can’t speak for them, but.”

“I know,” Brian turns and rests his head on Tim’s shoulder.

Tim pats his back, “you’ll be fine.”

Brian nods, “but I don’t feel it.”

* * *

Roger holds his head in his hands before throwing himself back across the bed. _Where had things gone wrong? _He can’t pinpoint a moment and the gradualness of the conflict scares him. This could happen again and that scares him.

The ceiling offers no solutions and he has to make his mind up before Brian comes back. Roger trusts that he will, and he is certain John would feel something if it was amiss. Well… if something else had happened.

Brian’s ultimatum stings. He fears what the prophecy means, but both John and Freddie seem convinced there is a second meaning to it. If both ways end with him losing Brian, he knows he should fight for him against whatever the prophecy may bring. Although, John and Freddie are going to tell him either way.

He sits back up and runs a hand through his hair before drifting down to rub at his necklace. It gives a moment of peace and then it serves to remind him that they’re fighting blind and they don’t even know who the enemy is. Strong and old is what Jer had told him.

That combined with the rumors of the May Coven’s fall – could the High Coven have truly been behind the entire extinction of a clan? More importantly, how would they have not known they failed? If Brian is truly part of that clan and a true resurgent witch and not a bloodline origin, does that mean the High Coven is behind this as well?

Certainly, it would explain how whatever they’ve done isn’t enough… Roger shakes his head. No member would get into bed with creatures of shadows. He has to believe that.

Roger groans. For the first time in his life, he wishes that he wasn’t a witch. That none of them were witches and all their struggles in life were making enough money to make food on the table and arguing about their next album.

“Roggie, my love,” Freddie calls.

“I’ll tell him,” Roger says miserably, “I’ll go along with it.”

Freddie pulls him into a hug, “thank you. We would have hated to do this without your blessing.”

Roger tightens his fists in Freddie’s jacket and hides his face in Freddie’s shoulder. He shakes but doesn’t cry yet, he’ll save it in case Brian still decides to walk out on them after all. Freddie’s hand rubs up and down his back.

“We’ll be fine, my dear.”

“Will we?” Roger says, “I shouldn’t jinx us…”

“Hush now,” Freddie kisses his temple but doesn’t stop the soothing ministrations, “just because my visions are cloudy now doesn’t mean the end of days.”

Roger stiffens.

“Oh stop being silly.”

“There’s too much we don’t know to be joking like that! You heard your mother!”

Freddie pulls away and shakes his head, “all rumors, over hundreds of years old. No one knows what happened, so they make up fantastic stories because they’re bored.”  
“And if they aren’t fantastic stories?” Roger snaps.

This time Freddie’s calm face breaks, “we go to our families.”

Roger shakes his head with wide eyes, “that could be a rebellion.”

“And Brian is worth fighting for.”

Roger pulls away, “I can’t risk our families like that.”

“What do you recommend then?”

John is leaning against the doorway. One eyebrow raised and his arms crossed. Roger doesn’t know what he has heard or what he is feeling. Instinctively he shies away preparing for John to launch another verbal tirade against him. Saying this was his fault. That Brian’s fate – the horrible one they all dread – is his fault. His breath gets caught in his chest. He watches John’s face cloud in guilt.

This might not be as easily fixed as he hoped. Roger wants everything to go back to the early days when they were waiting for Brian to see them. To want them.

“We run away,” Roger whispers, “go into hiding. We see the world, we don’t stay in one place.”

Freddie strokes his head, “we would all hate that.”

“Isn’t that touring?” Roger tilts his head, “that’s what we will be doing when we catch our break.”  
“No, my love.”

He waits for Freddie to explain.

“Touring is… well… it's being seen. Running away, that’s being afraid, never resting and always waiting for the next danger. It isn’t a good way to live. You remember, don’t you?”

Roger remembers that year well, it’s when he met Freddie and John. That had been the highlight.

“We can’t let our families get hurt – the moment we find out if it’s the High Coven… we run. Strategize. Not forever.”

“I’ll agree to that if we need to,” Freddie says.

John straightens, “Rog, are you with us? Brian just came back.”

His heart stops. He manages a weak nod, but he doesn’t know that he can stand right now. Everything hinges on this next conversation. Brian walking away is unimaginable, the worst kind of pain that he can feel. He won’t stop him but he hates that this is where the road has lead.

“Do we know how…?” Freddie asks John.

“I figured we show him after we tell him.”

The worst part about all of this is that Brian may never believe them. He might still choose to leave even after everything has been laid clear and honest on the table.

“Hullo?”

“Showtime,” Freddie smiles faintly.

It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t know how this ends?” Roger whispers.

“I’ll go let him know,” John says.

Roger hates to admit it, but the room feels lighter with John gone. He can’t even begin to imagine how they’re going to fix that hole.

Freddie hums, “I had a dream once.”

He hums.

“We were on a beach somewhere, or rather in a house on the beach. You, Brian and John, were all very lovely even with the gray streaking through your hair. We were all still very in love. Brian was singing some made-up song of his and John was playing along with some beat-up acoustic. You were curled up next to Brian. It didn’t feel like one of my visions, but I like to think it was one.”

Roger closes his eyes and tries to imagine himself getting old enough to have gray in his hair. John and Brian would look very distinguished with it though. He narrows his eyes, trying to picture Freddie with exaggerated laugh lines and crow’s feet.

“Hey,” Freddie whines, “don’t picture me old!”

“How’d you even know?”

“You were squinting and I know you can see this far at least.”

Roger sticks out his tongue, “there’s at least one future we grow old together in?”

“I know there’s more than one. Everything is a little cloudy now, but we’ve just got to keep pressing on. Right now we’ve got to talk to Brian and have our apologies. Then I’ll supervise a talk with you and John.”

“Only one emotional talk per day,” Roger feels his lips quirk up, “that was the agreement.”

“Ah yes, because we’re too rock and roll for emotions.”

“Exactly.”

Roger looks to the door and his heart falls to his stomach. He looks at Freddie’s whose mirth also seems to vanish as he imagines how the conversation will go. His palms start sweating but he stands, keeping the image of them all old and wrinkled in his head. One thing is certain. They don’t talk now and they will lose Brian.

“Shall we?”

Freddie offers his hand.

They walk slowly. Roger still hasn’t gotten used to this new place yet and reminds himself to break the drywall open and hide ad few protection bags in the drywall. Not that it has worked recently. The air in the living room is much colder, and once more the breath is knocked from his lungs.

It feels like a curse has settled over the room. His hair stands on end and he glances at John, who is running his hands down his thighs. Roger looks at Freddie who doesn’t appear bothered.

_How would a curse have gotten in here? _

He looks at the table and frowns at the odd assortment collected there. One of his hats and a bead from one of his spell stores. The picture he meant to give Brian for Christmas too.

“You went back to our old flat?” Roger asks.

The volume seems so much louder in the quiet of the room. John and Brian must not have broken their silence.

“Wanted to make sure nothing got left behind.”

Roger nods and joins John on the couch. Freddie perches on the arm of it. He reaches over and grabs one of John’s hands which is almost as sweaty as his.

Brian raises one eyebrow. Roger looks at him, the first time in what feels like an eon. His skin is sight and pale, his cheekbones sharp and eyes sunken in. He has a green-yellow bruise surrounding a tiny cut above his eyebrow. The dark circles give him a permanently haunted look (which is likely the case given his Gift). Everything in his posture screams that he wants to run.

“Well,” Brian clears his throat, “what have you decided?”

“We’re going to tell you,” Freddie barely lets him finish the question, “but it might seem outlandish.”

Brian waves his hand. Freddie looks back at them. Roger can’t even begin to figure out how to explain this. It’s like explaining why they breathe, yes there’s a process to it but its something that you don’t think about. John shakes his head.

“All on me,” Freddie says.

“Sorry,” Roger whispers.

“You see, we’re witches.”

Brian’s second eyebrow raises, “like… pagans?”

Roger snorts.

“Yes and no?” Freddie runs a hand through his hair, “some covens do have a religious element – we don’t – but we also aren’t dancing around worshiping trees.”

John clears his throat.

“Most of our families anyway.”

“If you’re not going to be serious,” Brian snaps.

Freddie looks close to tears, “I am! I said it would be outlandish. Please hear me out, Brian.”

“Really? Because it sounds like the next thing out of your mouth is going to be we cast spells and they work. Magic is real.”

Freddie bites his lip.

“You demanded we tell you!” Roger says.

“I wanted the truth!”

“It is the truth!”

“Roger!” Freddie says.

John wisely stays silent. Roger looks around the living room spotting the letter opener.

“You don’t believe in things you can’t see, right? Things that can’t be backed up by fact,” Roger says.

He stands and grabs the letter opener before moving to be in front of Brian. Only as he lifts the letter opener does he realize that this is a bit too extreme of an example, but at the same time, he can’t stop. Brian won’t be able to deny this or write it off as one of his “hallucinations.”

“Roger!” John says.

He slides the sharp end of the letter opener over his palm before letting the healing magic run over it. The cut grows bright green and seals itself, then the scar begins to fade. Roger drops his hand to his side.

“That was too much,” Freddie says.

Brian stares slack-jawed before standing up. Words get caught in Roger’s throat. Had he messed it all up? Maybe he should have been more delicate with the explanation. Have patience like Freddie and John were trying too.

Only Brian doesn’t move towards the door. He is pacing. The movements look awkward and stiff, and Roger wishes they had made Brian take a nap before having this conversation. His eyes are dancing across the floor. Roger knows this. Its what he does when he is stuck on a problem. Roger tilts his head.

Brian doesn’t stop pacing for fifteen minutes. Roger thinks that he is going to go bald by the time this conversation is over considering how hard he tugs on his hair when he runs his hand through it. Judging by how hard John is tugging on their bond he thinks that the others are going to go gray. Finally, Brian slows down and folds his arms over his chest.

“Magic is real,” he frowns, “but it can all be explained by science I’m sure.”

Roger blinks. He looks at John and Freddie unsure of what to do. They had all thought that Brian May, _the scientist, _would reject magic wholly and completely.

“That’s what you want me to say, right,” Brian says.

_Nevermind, _but Roger is almost relieved by the rejection. He loves watching Brian question the world around him, to figure out everything and how it works. As much as he doesn’t want this to be a fight, he wants Brian to push and make them have to explain it.

“It’s mad,” Brian says, moving to sit back down to the chair, “absolutely mad.”

He almost mirrors a prayer. Roger takes a step away from him. Freddie opens his mouth but John shakes his head. Brian isn’t ready to be pushed yet and they’ve done enough of that in the past few weeks that they need to let Brian come to them. Instead, he moves to pick up the photo resting on the coffee table. The wood feels like room temperature. He also stores the bead in his pocket and places the hat on his head (don’t blame him it’s one of his favorites to wear in the fall). None of them feel cursed.

There is still a curse in the room.

“Christ,” Brian leans back and rubs his hands down his face.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Freddie says softy.

Brian peers through a crack in his fingers.

“Understatement,” Freddie agrees, “but you’ve got to believe us.”

“I do,” Brian says, “that’s the awful thing. Is that I do.”

“What?” Roger can’t help but ask.

“Brian?” John questions

“It’s got a lot to do with my grandmother. And I’ve heard your conversations like I’m there? But I’m asleep,” Brian stands, “so there’s more to this?”

“Your Thing?” John pushes.

“Please don’t,” Brian begs, “don’t tell me. I can handle this theoretically. Magic being a –” he waves his hand, “thing I’ve encountered. We don’t know everything about the universe and magic is probably science we don’t understand. But I can’t be part of that. My Thing isn’t either.”

Brian shakes his head more wildly when no one refutes his claim. Roger takes a tiny step forward. Freddie is looking overwhelmed with being the only one to be dropping the bombshells.

“We think your thing is what we call a Gift –”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I know it’s anything but,” Roger agrees, “but you’ve done accidental magic before. We just want to help you understand it. Control it. Whatever your Gift is attracting – those shadow things. The hallucinations aren’t that, they’re spirits, we want to help you protect yourself.”

Brian’s shoulders drop and his eyes narrowed, “the day we met.”

Roger frowns.

“You said it was Beltane. That spirit world or whatever. The thing was thin.”

“Yes?” Roger vaguely remembers making a quip like that before realizing that Brian had no idea about any of his world.

Brian sits back down, “this isn’t just a spur of the moment.”

Roger presses his lips together. Anger sparks in him that Brian thinks that they would make something like this up, but then it dies. Brian is just putting the evidence together in his head. He starts to breathe a little bit easier. Maybe Brian will stay.

“I need time,” Brian says.

“Of course,” John agrees, “it is a lot.”

“But, I want to talk about what happened on Halloween. You didn’t tell me everything.”

Personally, Roger never wants to think about Halloween again in his life. Brian’s life energy had felt like sand between his fingers, each thread he grabbed broke. Even now his hands are shaking. If he hadn’t used John’s bond to Brian as an anchor (and they’ve yet to see what that’s caused) he knows Brian wouldn’t be here now.

“I’ll tell you,” John says.

“Deaky, you don’t have to,” Freddie whispers.

“No, I need to do it. I know what happened. What I say. What it means, mostly.”

Brian makes eye contact with each of them before dropping his shoulders the rest of the way, “I think I’m going to stay in my room for the rest of the day and just. Process all of this.”

“Okay.”  
Brian disappears towards the bedrooms. Roger watches him go before turning back to his partners.

“Is it just me,” Freddie starts.

“Or did he take that a little too well?” John taps his finger on his lip.

Roger can’t help but agree and his stomach twists. If one could feel such a thing, he knows that they’ve triggered the prophecy and there’s no going back.

* * *

Delilah perks up when she hears the front door shut. She stretches and looks at the bed. Freddie, Roger, and John are curled around each other. Not that she understands a lot of the ways of humans but she knows that they’re upset with what happened with Brian.

If only she can remember what happened. To help Percy explain to them who it was beyond a woman in dark clothes.

She jumps down, her bell jingling as she does. Frankie straightens and takes over her spot. _Well._

Delilah slowly wanders down the hallway pushing her head into Brian’s room. The tall one isn’t in his bed. She makes a confused _brr _and trots down the stairs. Strangely, the front door is open. She had thought she heard the door close. And Brian’s weird shoes remain.

With ease, she springs to the window ledge in time to see Brian cross the street. Without his shoes.

_Brr? _Delilah jumps down and squeezes through the gap in the door.

She rushes to catch up to Brian. He seems to be moving at an unnatural clip, especially given the wheezy rattling he makes. It almost sounds like he wants to cough up a hairball. Humans usually don’t, but Brian is furrier than most humans.

Delilah jumps up onto the mailbox when Brian waits at a street crossing as cars pass. She looks up at him. His gaze is far away and his face is slack. She turns to see if there was something causing the expression and then she turns back to him.

_Mrow? _

Brian doesn’t respond.

The cars finally thin out and Brian begins his unnaturally fast gait. Delilah shifts on her paws before springing away and charging back into the house. Freddie will know what to do. She can’t be certain, but it seems as though Brian is in a trance.

She launches herself onto the bed and straight onto Freddie’s chest.

_Freddie! Freddie! Freddie! Fred, Freddie. _

“Delilah, sweet girl, it’s too early for this.”  
She kneads his chest with her claws out.

“Ouch!”

“Frrred,” Roger grumbles, smacking him before rolling over.

_Mrow! _She tries again.

“If it’s because you’re hungry…”

_No! It’s Brian. Something weird is happening with him!_

Freddie sits up and she slides off his chest. She shakes her head and jumps back on him before he can get up.

_He’s gone! Outside. He was acting really weird. _Delilah doesn’t know whether to voice her suspicion of him being in a trance.

“Okay,” Freddie reaches over and pushes Roger awake.

“Get up, we’ve got a problem.”

Delilah jumps on Roger for good measure before she moves to wake Frankie up.

“Delilah says Brian was acting weird. I’m gonna check in his room, wake John up?”

_He is already gone!_

_I don’t need them panicking yet. _

She follows Freddie into Brian’s room. The smell burns her nose.

“A curse activated,” Freddie looks down, “do you remember which way Brian went?”

_Across the street, he kept heading straight._

Freddie pets her head, “good girl.”

Delilah watches him go back to the main bedroom and flicks her tail nervously. She follows after a second, just in time to see John sending Percy off to look for Brian.

* * *

It feels like he is surfacing from being underwater. The cotton around his head and darkness in his vision fades. Brian groans and blinks his eyes. He awakens in a place that is unfamiliar to him. Most of the room’s features are lost to him as the only lighting is a singular torch on the wall. After a moment he realizes that the flame itself is red and not just the reflective surfaces.

Cold air spins down his back and he shivers, pulling his arms across his chest. Brian looks down at himself. These aren’t the clothes he fell asleep in and his face heats up.

“Oh good,” a silky voice purrs.

He looks up doesn’t spot the speaker.

“You know, I had worried you’d notice the change with your necklace,” at least he knows now that the speaker is female.

Brian reaches up and touches the pendants. They’re all cool to the touch, but now that he is rubbing his thumb across them he realizes that they aren’t smooth stone. The gouges and cuts are uneven as though the person was in a rush. His grandmother’s pendant is the worst offender. He unclasps the necklace and lifts it to his eyes; the pendant looks inky.

Stones click across the floor and he looks up. Brian blinks.

“Sylvi?”

“Hullo, Brian.”

He pushes away from her as she steps closer, which nearly causes him to fall over the edge of the table. Brian looks behind him and squints, the ground looks like a void. If he fell, he would never come back. It’s dizzying and enchanting at the same time. Slowly he reaches out a hand before he shakes himself out of it.

“Hm.”

“What’s going on?” Brian asks slowly.

His attention is being drawn back to the void behind him.

“Dear one, didn’t any of those boys tell you anything? Or was the curse already too far in?”

Brian flutters his eyes. He vaguely remembers having a conversation with the others. Something about the secret they were hiding. Did they call themselves witches?

Sylvi clicks her tongue, “you don’t need to worry about that now.”

“Well,” Slyvi pauses, Brian’s eyes are drawn to the snake crawling up her leg, “I suppose you won’t have to worry about much anymore.”

Before he can ask what it is she means, the snake leaps out at him, it’s fangs sinking into his throat. Burning ice races through his veins and he tips over. Something pushes out from him, from somewhere he didn’t know he could reach illuminating the room in shimmering white light. The snake’s venom pauses, it burns and it freezes but it does not continue.

Sylvi pokes at the veil between them, “guess we have to do this the hard way.”

Brian focuses on the wall, trying to keep it strong. He also tries to keep the venom from surging further through his body. Each area it’s already touched feels heavy. The heaviest thing on earth. He can’t move.

Keeping the wall up begins to hurt and his focus slips the more he realizes that he can’t move, that he’s stuck in this position entirely at Sylvi’s mercy. He doesn’t know why.

“It’s business, hun,” Sylvi says, “nothin’ against you or your coven. Well current coven, your family coven is another matter.”

Brian stares and then closes his eyes at a wave of electricity through his veins. He feels the wall falter and he pushes against it harder. The venom slips further.

“It’s a shame we can’t spend more time together, you look adorable struggling like you are.”

Brian bites hard on his cheek. It’s the absolute worst time for a chest spasm but he feels it building. He swallows and forces himself to breathe evenly. The wall fades more but he knows he’ll lose the fight against the venom if he falls into a coughing fit now.

The urge to cough nearly burns as bad as the snake venom. Like a worm, the image of the venom burning through his veins digs into his thoughts. He can’t stop the cough. Gently the white light fades from around the room.

“I’m impressed you kept it up that long. Untrained but talented,” Sylvi strolls towards him.

She places a hand on his chest and the burning settles into something that feels like a sunburn. Sylvi sighs, “so much more work. Now I have to keep you alive long enough for your _boys _to get here.”

Brian stares at her. His eyes are starting to go dry.

“A change of plan!” She yells.

He wonders who she is talking to.

“Now,” Slyvi reaches behind her, “don’t be upset, as I said, this is just business. Why don’t you think of your Freddie?

* * *

Freddie paces around the living room. He might throttle John if the idea hadn’t been so brilliant. John gets off the phone with the hospital.

“No, but they’ll keep an eye out for him. Said he should be pretty obvious.”  
“Oh sure, everyone is going to be alert when you call someone mentally disturbed,” Roger spits.

“Not now,” Freddie says weakly.

“I know, Rog, believe me, I know. But we can’t go around and call him cursed and the police won’t let us file a missing person report for 24 hours if we don’t give them a reason that he could be a danger to himself.”

John looks away, a flash of guilt on his face. Freddie knows, but it doesn’t sit right with him.

More importantly, how’d he get cursed?” Roger asks.

Freddie can tell that he’s still fuming, but at least he is willing to work with John to find Brian.

“Nothing’s touched Red, and I don’t think he’s attached to anything else that he might have been missing.”

“Does it matter how, darling?” Freddie spins on his heel and starts pacing again.

“Not now,” Roger admits, “but if we can figure out how we can figure how who and then hopefully where.”

He sees John nod. It’s a sound plan, very logical and methodical but they don’t have the time to be methodical when Brian is out gods know where with gods know who. Freddie bites down, and he’s beginning to think that it’s the gods below that know the most.

There is a weird moment like his head has a hundred bees in it, and then he is falling to the ground.

_Chilled. Dew._

_It smells like dirt. New Freshly dug in. Grave dirt._

_Midnight? Moon is in the middle of the sky. Late._

_Alone? No. Something watching._

_Iron. Gate. Iron from the gate. Iron from the blood. Blood?_

_Blood from where? Who’s blood? His? No. Whoever he sees from is bleeding._

_A woman. Dark clothed. A hand on his chest. Male chest. Thin like bird bones. Bird?_

_Birdie! Brian!_

_A graveyard. A sign, it misses an E. Midnight._

Freddie sits up, nearly cracking both Roger and John with his skull. Green magic slowly fades from between Roger’s fingers tips and his mouth feels minty. John places a hand behind his shoulders.

“Fred? What the hells was that?” Roger asks shakily.

“A vision.”

John shakes his head, “not like that? You looked like you had a seizure.”

Now that John mentions it, it feels like his muscles have been stretched taught and vibrated. Well, there’s a reason the folks of old thought Oracles were speaking visions from the Gods. Freddie cups his head in his hand and tries to piece the vision together. Most of the moments are slipping through his mind like spiderwebs in the breeze.

“We have to be at a graveyard. The one with a missing E at midnight.”

“Why?” Roger asks.

“Because that’s where we’ll find Brian. I think.”  
Freddie remembers seeing blood, but he doesn’t remember who’s. He thanks back to his vision from months ago. When the Drude attacked, he had thought the end of it, but he remembers the knife. A knife that hasn’t been seen and a feminine hand holding it. Somehow, he thinks that he should connect the two.

It doesn’t do anything for his nerves and he still can’t find a reason for anyone to have a need or want Brian. Beyond them of course. He is just clairvoyant. Even if his past is what they say.

“A graveyard with a missing e?” John clarifies, “it’ll take us to midnight to find such a place.”

“I think maybe, I could scry it. I know the image in my head.”

“Fred, you’re magic is barely enough to keep you upright,” Roger snaps, “there’s no way you’ll have the strength to scry without giving yourself a sickness!”

“Brian will die if _he _does not.” Freddie doesn’t know how he knows.

In fact, it doesn’t sound like his voice at all. Freddie stares at his hands and then up to John and Roger who are looking behind him. Cautiously, with John’s hands never leaving his back he turns around. _Gods _if that’s what Brian sees every day there is no longer any wondering about the nightmares.

An old woman stands before them. Her face is similar in a way that Freddie might confidently say she’s a relative of someone and a nice old woman except for the translucent gray her body takes and unseeing eyes. Freddie feels sick. She doesn’t _have _eyes. Roger’s fingers dig into his arms.

“You don’t have much time.”

“Then don’t be cryptic,” John shoots back.

His mouth click shuts when the woman turns to him.

“You are tied together,” she says, “to my Birdie.”

Freddie stares at the grotesque scene before him. He shakes and wonders again how Brian can go through his daily life seeing which should not be seen.

“Wait,” Roger says, “are you… were you…Brian’s grandmother?”

“Yes. We haven’t much time. The crossroads at the graveyard with the missing E. That is where you’ll find The Daughter and the Soul-Collector. If you are to save him, you mustn’t let the vines touch you!”

Her body starts to fade.

“Wait!” Roger says again.

“I have given what strength I can. The pendant is weakened – corrupted.”

“Pendant?” Freddie breathes and shares a look with John and Roger.

He doesn’t want to be the first to admit it but if what they’re up against can destroy a Soul Pendant then they’re going to need more preparation than… he looks at his watch. Forty minutes.

“Saving him may not mean saving his life.”

With that, the rest of her aura fades away and vanishes with a tiny _blip. _Freddie stares at that spot and then turns to face Roger and John. He doesn’t know what they can do now. They have to find that graveyard. Apparently a crossroads within the graveyard.

“What?” Roger says quietly, “does that mean? Saving him may not be saving his life?”

“We’ll save his life,” John says.

Freddie stands shakily. Roger jumping up to grab him when he staggers, “Fred…”

“I’m sorry. We have to find him.”

Freddie goes over to the record player and pulls open the secret compartment. A crystal ball lays pristine against a purple velvet pillow. He lifts the entire thing from the slot and moves to rest it on the table. Roger is right at his elbow and John is furrowing his brow.

The crystal starts to fog at the exposure of their natural magic waste. Freddie hovers his shaking hands above it and focuses on only one thing. Brian. The way Brian’s eyes light up with the starts, his tiny smile and the way he still blushed so brightly even when they only kissed him on his cheeks. Freddie thinks about the one night after a shoe he had been drunk and started to count his curls.

He thinks _Brian. _

The crystal ball clears and he gets an image. A woman sitting next to someone. Freddie must guess that it is Brian, holding a hand on his chest. He dares not get closer in case she spots him and slides the Crystal ball out and towards the gate.

_Weston’s Graveyard._

The E is missing from grave. As the fog returns Freddie leans back against Roger’s strong hand.

“Weston,” he pants.

“We’ll bring him back,” Roger says.

“I’m going with you darling,” Freddie crosses his arms.

Roger clicks his tongue, “you can barely stand!”  
“We don’t have time,” John says.

He watches Roger’s gaze flip to him, betrayed, “how can you let him! We don’t know what we’re facing!”

“And that’s why we need him with us,” John says quietly.

Roger bites his lip and swallows, “you’re right. We don’t have the time.”

Freddie watches him storm out of the room and looks to John. His hand gits in John as the bassist helps him stand. His legs wobble as he finds his footing. Internally what’s left of his magic simmers low and he can feel it curling up to recuperate. He hopes that he won’t need to pull on his reserves the migraine truly not worth it.

_No, _Freddie amends his statement, _saving Brian’s life would make the migraines worth it. _

John steps away gently pulling on his arm. Freddie takes a step forward and prays to the gods that they’ll all come back in one piece after facing the unknown.

“I’ve got Percy heading that way. Don’t worry Fred.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm sure there's only good things to come, no?  
I'm gonna be honest, I really like the implications in this chapter, and there's a lot of information getting dropped. It's a lot to process, so don't be too hard on the boys.  
As always leave your thoughts and comments below, or come talk to me on tumblr!


	11. Is there a piece of my heart with you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops I apologize for the delay! Schoolwork kind of distracted me! But only a day late, so I'll take it!  
As always enjoy!  
This is a pretty heavy chapter, please be warned!

His body feels heavy. Each breath he draws is forced through him. Pulled by Sylvi and pushed by her as well. He isn’t breathing. He struggles to move, but it only leaves him feeling more exhausted.

The void calls to him and he stares through the blackness. Never-ending and all-consuming. Something jumps in the back of his mind, that he shouldn’t allow himself to be swayed by whatever influence it has over him.

This time it is harder to pull his mind away and to focus on the heaviness in his limbs. He flicks his eyes up to Sylvi who keeps a watch on something beyond them, occasionally she offers a dry comment.

He doesn’t understand.

_Brian! _

The name trickles through his head and for a moment it rattles around before it sinks into him that it’s his name – and had he been staring at the void again? He has a reason to not fall under its sway. He doesn’t understand why the blackness is so enchanting.

“Why?” The word leaves his mouth in a weak rattle, but he feels proud of himself for forming a word.

Sylvi hums in surprise, “why? That’s a large question.”

_Brian!_

“As I said, it’s purely business,” Sylvi taps one finger on his chest.

He stares at her.

“But I suppose if I were about to die, I’d like to know what my death was for.”

He feels icy terror sink into his heart, or he hopes that it is terror he feels and not the venom weaving its way into his chest.

A long time ago,” Sylvi snorts, “I hate clichés, but about two hundred years ago the High Coven wanted to stop the May coven – your bloodline obviously – from becoming more than what they were.”

If he could, he would lift an eyebrow.

“You see, your clan was very good at using their Gifts and each generation it changed. Now it was less of _seeing _and more _becoming. _The High Coven feared that you would become void-walkers.”

Brian stares.

“Anyway, they made a deal. A promised slot on the High Coven in exchange for a witch to take them out,” Slyvi rolls her eyes, “of course this was also to pardon her.”

He feels dizzy and once more pulls his gaze away from the void. Although he does wonder what waits for him there. Sylvi is still talking and he brings his focus back to her.

My mother, knowing that she could not win against an entire coven by herself made a pact, which of course backfired on her. Who knew the May Coven had a bastard child that escaped the purge?”

He would frown if he could move his lips. None of this is making any sense to him.

“So, when she failed to live up to the terms of the pact she was pulled to hell,” Slyvi spins her hand, “and I, of course, have been forced to bear the weight of immortality to fix this.”

“You _finally _came along.”

He swallows fear wraps around his heart. Somehow, he is going to be used to get someone out of hell, but it doesn’t make any sense because he doesn’t know how to do that. Unless… she is going to kill him. Chilled acceptance twists in his belly. He can’t fight her and no one knows where he is at.

“See, you’re what the coven wanted to stop. A walker between the worlds.”

Sylvi’s hand skips down his face. He can’t recoil, so he shuts his eyes and tries to pretend that this is a bad dream that he’ll be waking from soon. Her hand tightens around his throat and he is forced to open them again. She hovers above him.

“See, had you played along, your boys wouldn’t have been put in harm’s way.”

_No. _

The hand tightens again.

_Not them._

“And now, you’ll get to watch their undoing. Their faces as they realize they can do nothing to save you.”

_Don’t bring them into this!_

** _Brian!_ **

Brian tries to pull on what he felt before when he created the barrier between them. It keeps pulling away from him, like a cat that doesn’t want to be awoken from a nap.

“Silly boy.”

Sylvi finally releases his throat but keeps one hand on his chest. Brian wonders why. He can still feel the venom surge through his veins, halted by an invisible barrier. She is stopping it. But why? Brian wants to pull away from her, because if he is the key then if they don’t have him the others will be safe.

At the same time, it would kill him, and he stops the struggle. He doesn’t know what to do.

* * *

John follows Percy’s sight through the graveyard, trusting his senses to keep him from stumbling over any debris that they could possibly find. Freddie and Roger are a few paces behind him. He can feel flickers of Brian’s bond, but there is something blocking them from being able to communicate properly.

“John, slow down!” Freddie calls.

“We’ve got no idea what we’re going to be facing!” Roger says.

He does slow his gait, “we need to move!”

Right now he knows they’re in a race against the clock. There isn’t any telling what is happening to Brian at this exact moment. He can only assume the worst and hope they beat the clock.

Percy squawks. They’re getting close. He surges over the hill and sees a mausoleum. John chokes on the thick magic that surrounds the area. It isn’t as heavy as true curse magic, but it isn’t friendly and it is very old. Freddie comes to a stop next to him, covering his mouth and nose as well.

“This must be the place,” Freddie says with forced cheer.

ohn nods. There is only one way into the place, which he isn’t a fan of. Whoever they’re going up against is going to have the upper hand because they’ll lose whatever element of surprise they have by going through that door.

“I imagine you can’t see in there,” John pants.

Freddie shakes his head, “I don’t think it's worth the effort of trying.”

He looks back when he hears a sharp gasp. Roger is away from the top of the hill but he keeps his mouth and nose covered and is almost bowing under the weight of the magic. John tightens his jaw. Of course, Roger is more sensitive to this kind of magic.

“Rog, are you okay?”

Roger glares at him and then carefully finishes the climb to the top of the hill. He looks as though he is going to be ill.

“It’s strong,” Roger grits out.

John nods in understanding and then apologizes to Roger in advance for whatever is going to happen.

“Well,” Freddie frowns, “do we barge in and ask for Brian back?”

“Percy?” John calls out.

The kestrel dives down to circle around the masoleum. John closes his eyes and then focuses through the eyes of the bird. It looks like normal marble, weathered by the ages but there isn’t a single mark on it to declare it a witch’s haven. Percy pulls away and returns to the front of the building only to see the door swing open. With it is a puff of stale air, as though it hadn’t been opened in as long as it has been standing.

John opens his eyes and lifts his arm for the bird to return to him.

“They know we’re here.”

“They want us here,” Roger translates.

Freddie swallows loudly. John stares at the tomb and tugs on Brian’s bond again. This time he feels were it ends and it is guiding him straight below. He wraps his arms around him.

“I should go in alone,” John says.

“What?” Roger yelps at the same time Freddie yells “absolutely not!”

“There is no sense in risking us all,” John replies, “they know we’re here and who knows what kind of magic they have at their disposal.”

“You can’t save Brian alone!” Freddie replies, “we all have to. We’re stronger together, you know that.”

“If he is hurt, I need to be in there,” Roger adds quietly and then he drops to the ground.

John cries out in surprise but sees that Roger is coherent just tugging on his bangs and sobbing loudly.

“It’s my fault… If I had agreed earlier.”

He ignores the sickening thrill of vindication in his belly at the thought of Roger finally admitting that he was wrong and steps forward. John places a comforting – or hopefully comforting – hand on his shoulder.

“Rog, it isn’t,” he says, “they’ve been going after him and I think they would have done whatever it took in the first place.”

Freddie drops down next to him, “it’s okay Roggie, we just need to get him back.”

Roger looks up with bright blue eyes and two twin trails of tears. John swipes them away easily.

“Tears won’t help us right now.”

He watches as Roger wipes his eyes and takes in a shaky breath but doesn’t stand up yet. His hand goes to his necklace and strokes the pendants there.

“What’s the plan?” Roger looks up to John.

John looks back at the tomb. He wishes he had more information about who he was facing or at the very least what kind of magic to expect. Curse magic, obviously. But would it be the old curses or what today’s witches call curse magic? How are Freddie’s and Roger’s defenses going to work against it?

Is he really going to do what he thinks he will?

“Our priority is Brian. So don’t get too bogged down in fights, stay on your toes. If you have our Birdie get out. The rest of us will catch up.”

Freddie looks doubtful, “that’s not much of a plan.”

“I don’t have enough information to make a better plan.”

John looks back to the building. He feels a sharp stab at the back of his head.

“We need to go now.”

* * *

Roger pants quietly the closer they get to the mausoleum. He doesn’t understand how Freddie and are unhindered by the thick curse magic. John seems to be able to move through it with surprising ease and Freddie doesn’t seem to notice the air.

He bites at his fingers and hopes that Brian is okay. In his head, he runs through everything that could be wrong with Brian. He assumes that there will be some sort of cut considering the heaviness of the curse magic, meaning some have taken place. It doesn’t make any sense still.

This is dangerous territory to tread for someone who has only just awakened. Maybe there is more to the May Coven rumors than he has put stock in, but even if his ancestors weren’t as anti-curse as his current family, he can’t imagine they would abuse their seats like that. Murdering an entire family? To what end? Their kind is already small they can’t cull their numbers.

John holds his hand up and they stop at the opening. Roger presses his hand harder to his mouth. Freddie turns around and then rips something from his shirt before handing it over. He gestures to his face and Roger understands that he means for him to use this like a bandana. How bad does he look that Freddie would willingly ruin clothes for him?

Roger ties around tightly. The soft fabric cuts into his cheeks, but he is happy enough that it works and now he has both hands free to work when the time comes for him to use his magic.

“Ready?” John asks quietly.

Freddie nods and after a moment Roger does as well. Brian is in this building and he is going to do everything that he can to get him back. It’s his fault, Brian can’t defend himself and maybe John is right about them still going after him but maybe Brian would have been able to resist whatever curse was placed on him to get him to leave in the first place.

He doesn’t know what they used to curse Brian and he can’t help but wonder what Brian hadn’t told him during their months of fighting. It was stupid to keep this a secret. Roger rubs his eyes again.

Once they get Brian back, he can apologize, but he needs to focus.

He watches a tiny ball of flame form in Freddie’s hand, eating the dried sage easily. Roger feels the hair lighten and he swallows. They must have spirits guarding this place. Freddie steps in first, followed by John and Roger brings up the rear.

Before he fully enters the building, he pulls a stone in with him and places it in the doorway. Jumping when the door attempts to slam closed but is stopped. He lets out a long breath.

“Good idea,” John whispers.

They’re all standing on a landing. It looks like hundreds of steps in front of them. Orange light from Freddie’s palm dances around them and bounces off the white marble. Roger watches it, mesmerized before taking in a deep breath. The air is stale.

“Shall we?” Freddie says.

Roger rolls his eyes at Freddie’s strangely chipper voice, but when he looks at the singer, he sees the thin sheen of sweat. Freddie’s magic still hasn’t recovered, and he moves closer to him instinctively. Freddie grabs his hand with his free one.

“We’ll be okay, Roggie, you’ll see.”

John takes the first step down, and when it doesn’t collapse, he presses forward, just on the edge of the light source. Roger looks around the walls. There are still no markings of magic. His own buzzes against the surface and it takes a little more effort for it to spring to his fingertips. This place isn’t magic, it’s the opposite.

He is about to voice his discovery to John when they reach a second door. This one is heavily marked. Roger squints and pulls away from Freddie to read them. It’s old magic. He runs his finger over them.

“It’s a summoning room,” Roger says, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth, “something from the otherworld? Maybe it says underworld? The word doesn’t have a proper translation.”

“Let’s assume the worst,” John agrees, “can you tell how?”

Roger focuses back on the door. He runs a finger over one of the raised sigils, it cuts his finger and he pulls it away to wipe the blood and rust away. The rust on the door fades away leaving bright silver adornments that flicker along with the flame. He holds his breath. Nothing has been activated so far as he can tell. Which is good.

_Drain. _One says. _Magic. _Says another. His eyes dance over the rest of the symbols. Most are too old for him to know, but they give him a sick feeling in his stomach.

“It looks like it drains magic?” Roger whispers, “to summon whatever it is?”

Freddie bites his lip, “you think they’re draining Brian to summon whatever it is?”

He tilts his head. It could be possible. Newly awakened witches haven’t had an opportunity to limit their magic to safe limits. Their magic is wild and maybe Brian has more magic potential than they all guessed but it doesn’t answer how they would know Brian is the one that they want. He looks to the wall and doesn’t see a way to open the door.

“Wait,” Roger steps forward towards a wall scone.

Under it is two more symbols that he can read. _Spirit _and _Hell. _He steps back.

“Gods above,” he breathes.

“What?” John asks urgently.

“I think they’re trying to summon a demon.”

Freddie curses and John looks back at the door.

“How do we get this door open?” John runs his hand over where the seam should be.

Roger keeps reading over the symbols. He doesn’t know. His finger throbs and he raises it to his lip and suckles on it.

“Blood?” Freddie says.

He turns towards the singer to see where he is crouched by the bottom of the door. Roger leans forward to see that there is a tiny moat in front of it and he can see where there is a drain. It must be a weight mechanism. Roger reaches underneath his shirt and pulls out his knife before sliding it over his palm and allowing it to drain into the crevice.

He squeezes his palm to encourage the blood floor. His mind reminds him of his ill-fated attempt to prove to Brian that they weren’t lying. By the time he grows dizzy from the blood loss and two more cuts the door finally slides open partially. John and Freddie get next to it and start tugging it open the rest of the way.

“Go! John shouts.

Roger jumps through the opening, rolling slightly when he lands. There is an immediate drop off from the door, but he sees were the steps have also started to raise. It must take an entire person’s blood supply to get the thing to work properly. He gags and covers his bleeding palm. He prays that Brian was the one that they needed for the ritual rather than just a sacrifice.

He hates how that sounds to him.

Freddie stumbles through next, landing poorly and nearly screaming in pain. Roger crawls over to him to see that Freddie’s ankle is swelling. He places one palm over it.

“Heal it enough that I can walk,” Freddie says.

John drops down next to them slightly more gracefully. Roger closes his eyes as the door slams closed and he tries to pull his magic to the surface. He struggles to grasp it with the fuzziness in his head, but eventually, Freddie’s features are illuminated by green.

“What is this?”

Roger looks up once Freddie’s ankle is healed, as he said, enough for it to hold weight. It is like a large cave. Naturally formed and it's damp. He sniffs and there is something in the air other than curse magic. It makes him shudder.

“It looks like a cult place of worship,” Roger answers.

“That would explain why they’d want to summon a demon.”

He helps Freddie stand and watches John who has his head tilted and eyes closed.

“Is he here?” Roger asks.

If they’re trapped in here and Brian isn’t, Roger thinks he is going to scream.

“Yes,” John takes off.

Roger curses and takes off after him, stopping long enough to make sure that Freddie is following them. He is limping slightly, but he can keep a decent clip. John nearly disappears in the darkness of the cave, but Roger can keep pace with him enough.

They turn the corner and the darkness is pushed back by red burning candles. John has paused and is looking around. Freddie stumbles into him.

“Well?” Roger asks.

“He should be here,” John says, “this is where the bond says he is.”

Roger looks around the room. The only thing he sees is a stone table. He moves towards it. Not a table.

“That’s an altar.”

“To who?” Freddie asks, “I don’t know those symbols.”

“I don’t know them either,” Roger frowns, “one means power and the other means death. Soul?”

Roger scrapes off flakes of dried blood. _Don’t be Brian’s. _

“The collector of Souls?”

“Well, that’s what Brian’s grandma said,” Freddie says, “she said Soul-Collector.”

Roger nods and looks around the room. There has to be something here. It can’t possibly be a dead end and John’s bond has never failed them before. He presses down on the table and hisses when the rough stone cuts his palm. Another scrape above the cut appears and he waves his hand to attempt to push the sting out from it.

A low rumbling fills the room.

“What is it with blood and this place?” John murmurs.

Roger jumps away when the altar pushes away revealing and thin staircase leading further into the darkness. _Are they going to make us walk to hell? _They have to be quite a distance underground now. The air smells fresher at least, and he tugs the bandana from his face.

John leads the way. Freddie goes in between them again because he is still limping awkwardly. Once Roger’s foot hits the third step down all of the torches along the walls light up. He squints as his vision is filled with proper light for the first time.

Their breathing fills the staircase, echoing and magnifying until it is a bombardment of _haaa haaa haaaa_. His hair stands on end and if they didn’t know they were here before, he is certain that they hear them now. Roger counts 65 steps down before they level off into a carved hallway. It is the same marble that was the door and the walls. He runs his hand along with it and feels the coolness.

“Careful, the curses are stronger down here,” he whispers.

He folds his hands into a fist and draws next to Freddie.

“Its okay, Roger,” he says.

He doesn’t shake his head, but it doesn’t feel like it is. They walk onwards. John jumping at every strange sound which frays on every last cluster of nerves Roger has.

“Would you stop?” He grumbles.

“I don’t want to be caught flatfooted.”

Roger glares and John pulls a face. They look away from each other at Freddie’s long sigh.

“Now isn’t the time. We’re all on edge.”

“You’re right,” Roger says softly, “I’m sorry, John.”

John nods, “I’m sorry too. This whole thing… it’s a bit too much.”

_That’s an understatement. _

Finally, the hallway widens out into another large room. This one has a chandelier hanging from the ceiling as the only light source. Roger flicks his eyes around. There is a wooden arch next to the wall, it looks like the stone was built around it. The magic it emanates is thick and he coughs as it makes the air heavier than it had been at the approach. He can faintly make out the symbol for _gate. _

This is the room they have to summon in. Roger pulls his gaze away from the gateway trying to focus through the lowlight, cursing as his eyes have to adjust for the third time. Freddie reaches out and grabs his hand and Roger grips John’s sleeve. It feels like ice is running down his spine. Freddie screams and falls into him.

Roger steadies them both, “what the – why Fred!”

“Snake!”

Roger looks down to the ground, and sure enough, a dark-scaled snake slithers between their legs and vanishes towards the wall. He hears a hiss and looks up to see it dangling from an outcropping above them. He follows the vines back to the gate.

_Shit! _“John this is a –”

“Thank you so much for coming!”

The room brightens. Roger covers his eyes again and wipes away the tears gathering. He feels Freddie wrap around them and John’s sleeve pulls from his grasp.

“Who are you?” John asks.

Roger blinks his eyes open. The room is much brighter than he would think possible. Most of the light comes from the gate now, but he can see a few light sprites that have been captured in the corner of the room. His heart goes out to them. His gaze is drawn to the center of the room. A second alter is there.

It is far more intricate than the one on the floor above, carved out of solid ebony and lined with gemstones that have been activated.

Roger loses his breath when he sees what is _on top _of the altar.

”Brian!” All three of their voices pierce through the air.

He surges forward only for both Freddie and John to grab ahold of him. For a heartbeat, he fights against them before he notices the original speaker. It is a woman who gives off the faintest impression of being familiar to him. Except he would have noticed a witch this powerful trailing around them.

She has a hand placed over Brian’s chest. His stomach curls. The woman has no right to touch Brian and he wants her hands off of him. He steps forward.

Ah-ah,” she waves her finger, “you remove me… he dies.”

Roger stumbles back grasping his heart. He darts his eyes around the room looking for any sign of deception. The snake flicks its tongue out of him and bobs its head.

“Fix him,” John demands with a slight waver, “_give him back.”_

The woman laughs, her voice cracks and it’s grating. Roger covers his ears at the unnatural volume of it. He grimaces. Both John and Freddie are cover theirs. Strangely Brian doesn’t move. Roger doesn’t even see a twitch. Cold dread fills his lungs.

“You truly think waltzing in here and demanding things will work?”

Her gaze is sharp and he falls away from it. John shifts to stand in front of them. Roger feels a nudge in the back of his head. It makes him roll onto his toes.

Almost in slow motion does he sees John pull off one of his beads from his bracelet. He flings it forward and Roger leaps. The woman is pushed back from Brian when the bead shatters. The moment her hand is off Brian’s chest Roger is grabbing him.

He forces his magic into Brian, feeling out any injury. All he feels is molten liquid. It pushes against his magic and clamors towards Brian’s heart. Roger puts a stopper against it, but he can’t tell what it is. John stands next to him and Roger can see where his fist trembles.

The woman rolls to her feet, the serene look (Roger hadn’t noticed it prior) has been wiped off into a scowl. He places his second hand against Brian’s chest. Whatever it is, fights against him harder.

Sweat beads on his forehead. Roger glances up to see half-lidded hazel. Brian is awake (his chest faintly rises against his palm and it feels like it struggles to rise). There is also a rigidness to his body. He doesn’t know if Brian is aware.

“Brats,” the woman spits.

Her hand raises.

A forcefield shimmers between them. Roger turns his head to see John detangling another bead from his bracelet. He nods gratefully and turns back to Brian. He smiles reassuringly when he thinks he sees Brian’s eyes flicker to him. Roger isn’t sure if it was convincing.

John surges past him as the shield falls. Roger’s arms tremble with the exertion of keeping the toxin at bay. His eyes flick up to Brian, watching his face. Brian’s skin is gray and it looks clammy. He notices a smear of red. Roger raises his hand, pushing back against the sudden barrage of the toxin. When he wipes the red away, he sees two tiny pinpricks.

Hissing fills his ears. Roger is barely able to duck as the snake launches itself over his head and making a dull thudding sound as it hits the ground. He turns his head to see the snake spasm and still. Reassured he knows what to do now, Roger tries to push the venom out of Brian.

A colder force starts slipping away and to Brian’s heart.

_It was cursed too? _

”Freddie!” He gasps, pushing back against the curse.

John yells. Roger’s head whips his head up. Singed flesh hits his nose and he gags. John is pulling a smoldering jacket from him tossing it to the ground. His fingers twitch to heal the long burn on John’s arm.

Freddie!” He calls again.

When he doesn’t answer, Roger twists around to yell once more. The noise gets stuck in his throat. Freddie has collapsed on the ground with dimly glowing vines wrapped around his wrists and ankles. A few vines almost raise up and twitch towards him.

Roger sniffs. The air is getting heavy again. There is a flash in the corner of his eye, and he glances towards it. Some of the veins light up with yellow and it feels like Freddie’s magic. He winces as he loses his grip on the curse-venom and it slips further. Brian stirs slightly

“I’ve got you,” he whispers.

At the very least Brian is too out of it to hear the shaking in his voice. Roger jumps when he feels something prodding at his ankle. He looks down to see that one of the vines has spread from the ones from Freddie. He stomps down on the vine and it lets out a shriek as it withers.

Making sure to keep the magic flowing through to Brian, he climbs on top of the table clumsily. Hopefully, it will keep him out of range of the vines. He spares a look to John, who is crouched down, holding his arm and glaring at the woman. Roger closes his eyes at the quick flash of brightness. His hair stands on end and his ears ring from the lightning bouncing around the tiny room.

When had John weaved that into a bead? The woman screams and falls to her knees holding her stomach. Roger narrows his eyes and notices the fine tremble in John’s uninjured arm. Had that been? No, John _wouldn’t._

Something drops down in front of him and he reels back in shock, only for a vine to wrap around his throat. He raises on hand automatically to pull it loose from where it is currently squeezing his throat. The dark magic trying to circulate Brian’s body is winning against his. Roger pushes more into Brian, but the vine lights up with tiny green flecks. They remind him of the fireflies he has seen in American movies.

His head feels fuzzy and only when his hand goes slack does, he realizes what exactly is happening. Roger raises his hand again, only for a second vine to wrap around him.

_You mustn’t let the vines touch you!_

Roger turns his hand into a fist and tries to pull against it. A third vine makes a path towards his hand still on Brian’s chest. He straightens out his leg trying to kick at it. It causes him to overbalance. The only thing keeping him from face planting into Brian’s stomach is the vine around his throat which cuts of his air. Black spots dance in his vision.

The vine wraps around his leg instead. Roger closes his eyes and tries to trace the paths of magic inside of him. They’re being pulled to the vine, but he slowly works more of it go through to his hand on Brian’s chest. If he doesn’t keep the curse from reaching Brian’s heart, all of this was for nothing.

Eventually, the tightness around his throat eases up as he rights himself. His eyes start to burn and swallowing feels like eating hot coals.

“Bri,” he manages to whisper, “John!”

He sees John’s form smash into the wall. Some of the torches fall off and land onto John’s form. He groans, but slowly raises up to his knees. Roger’s eyes widen but the vines tighten, and his warning is cut off.

Vines from the gateway on the wall wrap around John’s wrist and pull them out from underneath him which pulls him prone. John arches back and tries to pull himself free. Roger sags forward as more of his magic is pulled through the vines, landing on top of Brian.

The vines around John’s wrists turn to dust and this time Roger knows what he has seen. John reaches his feet and darts away from the vines.

“Oh my,” the woman chuckles, “I would have never thought that one of you would be so willing to use curses.”

Electricity races down Roger’s spine. He wallows his tongue in his mouth, trying to make it wet enough for him to have his voice again.

“Let them go!” John shouts.

The tone is gravely in a way Roger has never heard before. He has been on the receiving end of John’s wrath (quite a bit in recent months) but he has never made John _this _upset. His heart twists in concern. Brian lets out a tiny whimper and Roger tries to force what magic he has left to fight against the poison racing through Brian’s veins.

John is yanked up into the air and is once more collides with something ribs first. The vines tug John’s hands so that they’re behind his back, and another one twists around his mouth. Roger curses once the blue starts streaming down the vine.

He belatedly realizes that the room has taken on a strange orange glow. As best as he can, he twists his head and sees that the gateway has lit up. Behind it, he can make out dark peaks of mountains and in the foreground, it looks as though there is a figure waiting for entrance.

_Oh, _he this deliriously. They aren’t draining Brian, they’re the ones that needed to be drained.

Roger’s grip slackens against the vines again and his hand slips off of Brian’s chest. His fingers still tickle Brian’s rips however, but he doesn’t have the magic to spare. He watches Brian’s eyes twitch. There is a haziness to them that Roger knows has to be related to either the pain or the poison in general.

“No,” he whispers.

A loud crackling sound fills the room. It bounces off the wall and magnifies it, almost as loud as the woman’s laughter earlier. The room starts to warm up. Roger summons enough energy to roll over to get a full view of the archway. Something is pushing against the gateway, trying to burst through.

He uses his free foot to push himself further over Brian. He knows it won’t stop whatever it is, but maybe his target isn’t Brian. The woman walks towards the gateway. Roger turns his head to get a look at Freddie, but from this angle, he can only see that Freddie is still prone on the floor.

A part of him prays that there is an automatic stop with the vines, that when there’s no more magic they deactivate. Otherwise, they’ll pull on their life force. Roger wishes his lungs didn’t feel like they were made from lead. That he could yell to check on Freddie and John. That he could whisper more comforting words to John.

The figure pushes through the gateway. Roger thinks about the time he watched a butterfly spring free from its cocoon. Will the thing be slimy too? Maybe it's too hot for it to be slimy? Is that a thing?

The vines loosen, and Roger feels the last spark of magic drain from him. A sharp headache blooms across his skull and he lets out a weak whimper. Weakly he fights against the restraints which are slipping off of him more with each struggle.

He supposes the good news is that there is an automatic stop.

“My lord,” the woman says.

She kneels and keeps her gaze to the ground. Roger blinks and squints through the much too bright orange light. It's so hot in the room now that his eyes are drying out. His lips crack.

“Sylvi.”

Roger’s lungs reverberate with the voice, as though the sound is coming from inside of him instead of the figure. He can’t make out many features from his position, but he sees a tail flicker behind the figure and horns from his head. If he had to guess, the odd shape of his pants is due to goat legs.

This isn’t just a summoning. _She summoned a demon lord. _

His mind catalogs the environment changes and tries to connect them to what he knows about the demon lords. The warmth and heat trigger something in his mind. _Soul-collector. _It can’t be? Could it?

“You did a wonderful job,” the demon lord looks behind him, “and the portal is very stable.”

“They had more magic than I had previously considered,” Sylvi replies, “so only one of them would have worked, but I suppose its nicer to let all three of them live.”

The demon lord hums and strolls towards Roger. He gasps and bears his teeth. It’s a weak attempt to keep the demon away from Brian, but he can’t just do nothing! A clawed hand wraps around his head, and he is certain that the claws of pierced his skin. Roger yells as his body and neck are jerked in different ways and grunts as he makes contact with the ground.

For several meters he rolls, the uneven ground biting into his shoulders and he finally stops near Freddie.

The singer’s eyes are hazy but he seems alert.

“Roggie?” He whispers.

Roger rotates his jaw and struggles to turn his head to the side. It hurts and he knows his movement is restricted, but at least he can _feel _everything. His hair starts to mat against an itchy spot on his head. Inside of answering to Freddie he keeps his eyes trained on the demon and Brain.

Sylvi has moved back to stand next to the alter. In her hand is a vase, which she opens the lid. Roger squints. It looks like an urn.

The urn is knocked from her hands and bounces away with dull metal clangs. Roger gasps as he sees John barrel into Slyvi they both go down, but John gets on his feet almost instantly. He sees a vague aura around John. His splitting headache is back, and Roger is forced to close his eyes. It feels like his spinal cord is being ripped from his back.

Freddie groans in pain behind him.

Roger flutters his eyes open between the throbbing. John is trying to get between the demon and Brian, but the demon steps away easily before raising his knee into John’s already abused chest. He goes down with a sickening _crunch._

The pain in his head grows. He shifts so that he can push both hands against his skull to try and alleviate the pain. Tears spring to his eyes. Roger wants to crawl over to the altar and heal the breaks John has certainly suffered and to keep the demon’s hands from Brian’s body.

Strange chanting fills the room. Roger forces himself to his hands and knees. Sylvi has pulled out a book and is reading from it. He doesn’t need to know the tongue to know that he can’t let her finish the incantation. The demon is also waving something over Brian’s body.

The air is filled with the smell of rotting eggs and sage. Roger shouts as the pain relocates to behind his eye and the best he can do is dig the heel of his palm against his eye. He shifts into a squat and then stands, slowly as though he has a ten-ton weight on his back.

Whatever magic is being cast is the heaviest Roger’s ever felt. His hair stands on end and he turns to Sylvi. If he stops the chanting he is sure that he will stop the spell. John makes eye contact with him and nods.

Roger tugs the last bead clinging onto his bracelet. He hopes this is the spell he thinks it is. It feels warm to the touch, but he doesn’t know if its because the magic is activating or if it's because the temperature is rising in the room.

He is hit with a wave of dizziness and he stumbles back, tightening his grip on the bead and raises his hand to press against his eye again. His vision blurs and he sees double. Roger inhales the acrid air and tosses, praying to the gods above that he is at least close.

The tidal wave erupts from where the bead shatters and Roger is forced back to the floor in a heap as the pain in his skull feels like his head is being ripped in two. He presses against his temples, fingers tangled in his blond strands and pulling.

Roger cries and doubles over into himself. He bites at his tongue trying to distract his body from the blinding pain in his skull. Before he can pass out the pain evaporates, as though it had never been there before. In its place leaves a void. As though someone took a piece from a finished puzzle.

A cord has been cut.

Its as though all signs of life had been pull from the room. The chanting and the heat have faded leaving a quiet and cold room. A quick glance to Freddie sees that he has raised up on his arms and that John is on his back also trying to push himself to his feet. Holding the air in his lung he looks to Brian and the demon lord.

In the demon lord’s hands, he holds a tiny twisting ember of stardust. Roger feels his jaw drop despite himself. It’s hauntingly beautiful in the way things should not exist are. It radiates light but Roger doesn’t see any of the shadows it should be casting. A dim hum buzzes around him, radiating from the sphere.

Bile races up his throat and he hunches over, spitting up between his hands.

The humming dies as the demon pushes the sphere into the urn. Roger doesn’t know when it rolled back over to the altar, but the lid is closed and the air returns to normal. His arms shake and he ends up spitting up again, his stomach twisting and trying to keep up with his thoughts.

“The deal is complete,” the demon lord says.

Sylvi stands and dusts off her shirt. Roger curses her name and line, but it lacks any strength to make it an evocation. John might not have a problem with it though.

“As promised,” Sylvi says and then holds out her palm.

“The curse of immortality broken, and thus you do not need the aid of a glamour any longer, and the return of your mother’s soul.”

The demon lord tosses Sylvi a second urn. The magic aura from her fades. Roger doesn’t know how powerful the glamour was, but he is certainly noticing its absence. The bright blonde hair dims into honey and her naturally pale skin gains a healthy flush to it.

“It’s a shame to lose Tullia though, her soul was a very nice statement piece.”

Roger doesn’t know that he is breathing. There is no way that Sylvi is Tullia’s daughter? But then she apparently had the curse of immortality? But why?

He feels as though he has been struck by lightning. Nothing is making sense and everything is making his hair stand on end. The demon lord stares at him, a sharp grin honing in on him, his fangs curving towards each other and mirroring the spiraling of his horns.

“Ah, a Taylor boy,” the demon turns and looks to John, “and a Deacon? I haven’t seen your blood in a long time, boy.”

He trips to move in front of Freddie, wanting to spare him this moment, but Freddie has found his voice again.

“Enough! We haven’t done anything to you! Leave us be!”

The demon hums, “Oh. I suppose that’s fair.”

“Brian has done nothing to you!” He yells.

Roger looks towards Brian. He is still laying there on the alter, so, for now, Roger turns his gaze to a demon lord. Everything is telling him to go over there and check on him, but he remembers the warnings he has grown up with when dealing with the underworld.

They mostly boiled down into “don’t” and “if you do get involved with them, don’t trust them.”

“No, he hasn’t. Which is why he is still alive. It’s his bloodline that I’m after. He is just the last one.”

He squints. The May bloodline? Then there are the rumors about them being a target of the High Coven.

“And the deal was fulfilled to my satisfaction, however, Miss Sylvie here was dissatisfied, so if you must be enraged and aggrieved, focus on her.”

Sylvi rolls her shoulders and stands proudly, “I wanted my mother back! The High Coven betrayed her! They were never going to fulfill their deal!”

“Had the bastard son not escaped, they would have,” the demon lord says mildly.

_What? _Roger knows that things will sink in once the adrenaline has rushed out of his body and he isn’t active without his magic. The demon lord tuts and looks towards him.

“Be grateful you’ll be able to say goodbye.”

Freddie stumbles to his feet and fails like a newborn foal towards where Brian is laying. Roger’s eyes narrow on the urn, and then it feels like everything has shut off. He kneels and leans back so that most of his body is resting on his heels and his arms hang limply at his side as he stairs. His mouth must be opened because it is drying out again.

Someone is yelling. His eyes flicker to John who is red-faced and yelling at the demon lord. Roger doesn’t have the ability to try and figure out what it is that they’re saying, although he is distantly impressed that John has the balls to yell at a demon lord like that.

Not just any demon lord. Apollyon, the forgotten keeper of souls. Roger wonders why he remembers the name now when he could have used it earlier. Maybe in a banishment incantation.

Sound returns to him slowly. John’s voice breaks and cracks with the volume. Roger has never heard him that loud before. He didn’t think John could get that loud. Freddie’s muffled pleas reach his ears next. Somehow he gets to his feet and drunkenly wanders back to the altar. He turns around to see that Sylvi has vanished. Someday this will catch up with her, but his gaze is pulled back to Brian, where he remains in the same position he has been the entire time they’ve been in this room.

Freddie is gripping Brian’s hand, Roger dimly corrects his spatial knowledge of Brian’s anatomy and a part of him feels like its groping through the air for something. It’s the memory of the last few pieces of sand that have slipped from his fingers.

He bumps into the altar and shakes his head, trying to bring it down from the clouds in which it vanished. Everything is still hazy and out of focus. Brian’s face isn’t. It’s serene and completely sharp. Roger could count the tiny blemishes if he chose to.

_Brian has 46 freckles between both cheeks. There is a group of six that if one squints they look like Orion. _Roger remembers rubbing his thumb across them when Brian’s cheeks were freshly flushed the first day they woke up next to each other after confessing.

He also remembers that Brian has a tiny cluster of freckles behind his ears, they form a five-point start. Freddie had once taken a sharpie and connected the dots. Brian had grumbled about wearing it but then had kept his hair pulled away from the mark.

Roger shakes his head and focuses on the Brian in front of him. As beautiful as ever, and the beauty is enhanced in the same way that all untouchable things are ever more stunning. He imagines that’s what draws Brian to the stars. The impossibility of it all.

His fingers drift down one of the perfect coils before they bump against Brian’s cheek. The chill of their skin-to-skin contact brings the rest of the world back into focus. Freddie is crying and begging next to him and John has joined them at the head of the alter.

There is a part of him that is aware that he should probably be feeling something but it feels buried underneath that unknown thing that he keeps grasping for. He flattens his palm against Brian’s cheek. The chill is unnatural. A lingering breath of a curse. A weak pulse of his reserve magic tells him that the venom he had been fighting against has gone.

Roger places two fingers underneath Brian’s jaw, gently guiding his head to the side. It takes him a few heart-stopping seconds to feel a fluttery push against the pads of his fingertips. He also raises his hand to the spot underneath Brian’s nose. Tiny puffs of air brush his palm. It tickles in a way that makes the hair on his arms stand up.

Brian _could _be sleeping.

Even without using his magic Roger knows that he isn’t. The urn, the sphere. The Soul-Collector. An age-old bargain of balance. A soul for a soul. Roger wallows his tongue in his mouth trying to find the words. He has to cross a chasm and the words keep falling too short.

What do you even say?

Brian turns into his palm, and for a second Roger feels a spark of hope before he crushes it quickly. Human reactions are buried in the brain, and if it senses the body is cold then naturally it would seek out the warmth.

Roger looks up to Freddie, wondering how they should handle this. Freddie has Brian’s hand pressed to his lips, a line of tiny healing incantations leaving it. Roger tilts his head. None of the incantations have much magic behind them, and if Freddie keeps trying to push magic he is going to end up in a worse state.

He raises his hand to cover Freddie’s and shakes his head. Freddie opens his mouth.

John lets out a hiccupping sob. Roger turns to him, but John stands straight, the only sign that he is feeling anything is the tiny jumping of his chest followed by the occasional hiccup. He looks way to brush whatever is tickling his chin only to pull away and see a smear of water on the back of his hand.

His hand goes up to the skin under his eye and he pulls it away, noticing the dull glistening in the strange lighting. Roger rubs his hand over his eyes trying to stop it. The tears are coming harder now that he noticed that he is crying. He pulls his second hand away from Brian to keep rubbing and he steps away, stumbling over something on the ground and sprawling back.

He meets John’s gaze, his gray eyes are shining like the moon. A sob tears through his body, making him shake in time with his heaving chest. Roger pulls his knees up and shoves his face in them, trying to block out the world. When the world was out of focus, his brain wasn’t working. It wasn’t connecting the dots and finding the implications.

Now along with the pain of what’s happened to Brian the pain in his body filters through. He feels it on his shoulder, which is itchy and sticky and his neck which aches every time he pulls in a breath. His mouth is filled with the taste of bile and salt. His body shakes uncontrollably, which aggravates the muscle soreness around his wrist and leg from the vines.

Roger is starting to feel like a person again and he hates it.

“Roger,” John says softly, “we… this isn’t the end.”

He snaps his head up, “_yes, _it _is! _That’s what that damned prophecy said!”

John raises his palms, his chest is still jumping in time with the tiny hiccups. Roger switches his focus to Freddie, who is now cradling Brian’s head in his hands against his chest.

“Even if he is alive, he won’t be for long,” Roger whispers.

“Roger…”

“You know what they say about the people who’ve had their souls taken! Eventually, their body just gives up!”

One of John’s large hand’s dashes across his eyes, “so we make sure that his body can’t give up!”

Roger laughs. It’s high and sounds a little too close to Sylvi’s comfort because she hadn’t been the kindest soul in the world and this same thing had happened to her.

“You think Apollyon is going to give him back in a couple of days? That this was just a point he wants to prove,” Roger spits, “grow the fuck up John.”

“And you’ve already given up!”

“There’s nothing else to do! Unless you’re going to go bargaining with a demon!”

“Both of you!” Freddie whispers.

They’ve heard that phrase many times since the drude attack, but Roger thinks that this is the first time that it’s truly sunk in. Freddie’s skin is pale, and his legs are visibly shaking with the strain to keep him up. He holds on to Brian like he is the most precious thing in the universe. His hair flies in wild angles, with gray splotches from the dust and cutting through the dust on his cheeks are tear tracks.

The fight flies out of him. Roger instead bows his head and wipes away the proof of his grief.

“We can take him to my uncle’s clinic,” Roger breathes, “that way we can all get looked at too.”

John presses his lips together but says nothing. Freddie leaves a tiny kiss on the middle of Brian’s forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😅   
Don't kill me?  
As always leave your thoughts and comments below, or come talk to me on Tumblr!


	12. How do you live at the end of the world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update, college and other life events have been making it hard to get any serious writing time down. But the goodness is, update?  
Enjoy!

John’s knee keeps bouncing. Every time he tries to stop it, he manages for only a few seconds. His chest aches and the bandages tickle his side and he wants to pull them off. Roger’s uncle warned him that the bandages were there more as a reminder because his ribs could slip. The bandages don’t really feel like they’re helping.

As though cloth could fix the hole in his chest.

He glances up to watch Roger flit around Brian’s bed. John presses his fingertips to his lips. Every once and awhile Roger’s hands will light up with life magic only to fizzle out. His hair is pulled back and he looks like he might vibrate out of his skin or pass out. John isn’t entirely sure which is going to happen first.

“Roger,” he calls softly, “sit down, catch your breath.”

John doesn’t know that Roger has even been examined yet.

Roger glares at him. His hand hovers over Brian’s. He lifts his hands in a surrendering gesture. They don’t need to fight. He closes his eyes and swallows his guilt. They had been fighting with each other and they missed any obvious signs. If Roger forgives him, it will be a miracle.

Slowly he stands. Somehow he had been sitting long enough that his joints have stiffened. That means Roger has been going for too long on depleted magic.

“I’m going to check on Freddie.”

He tries to ignore the icy glare that Roger sends at his back. John attempts to detangle their signatures, certain that Roger will appreciate the space. Without Brian’s bond he feels off-balance, he never noticed when it had just been Freddie and Roger in his headspace. Mentally he grasps for Brian, but he doesn’t find a single strand to cling to.

His magic spins chaotically, as though it doesn’t know how it senses Brian’s life presence but can’t touch his magic. _How did we let it get to this point?_

He stumbles back when something hits his chest. John looks down to see Clare fixing her hair.

“Oh, sorry John.”

He waves his hand, “don’t worry about it.”

Clare offers a tiny smile, “I was just coming to let you know we’ve stopped the drain on his life force.”

John exhales, knocking himself into the wall. His throat tightens and his eyes burn.

“Fred will be fine?”

“For now,” Clare nods, “how is Roggie?”

“Manic,” John replies.

He winces, “he hasn’t slowed down any. Still watching over Bri.”

Clare bites her lip, her wide blue eyes – almost identical to Roger’s – start to tear up, “I can’t believe what happened to Brian.”

He can’t imagine that she could. John doesn’t believe what happened and he had been there. A demon stealing Brian’s soul. Clare raises her hand but then puts it down to her side.

“I’ll go talk to Roggie.”

John smiles a little grateful, not doubting that Clare has sensed the animosity between them. He straightens up, rubbing the back of his hand underneath his nose and then wipes the residue on his shirt. Once he has himself collected, he hurries to the room where Freddie had been taken.

Doctor Taylor is tossing a few rags into the laundry bin. His face is pale and covered in a layer of sweat. His normally pristine lab coat is tossed over the back of a chair and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. The room smells of burnt herbs and freshly brewed potions. John glances at the still full vials on the counter.

“John,” Doctor Taylor greets, “how are you feeling?”

“I think the medication kicked in,” John answers honestly.

“That’s good. I’m sure Clare told you that we got him stabilized.”

John steps closer to Freddie’s bed. There are a few scratches across his face. He winces, he hadn’t realized how badly his magic was attacking his life force, he would have made Doctor Taylor focus completely on Freddie if that were the case. Brian was as stable as he could be, John isn’t as badly hurt, and Roger is refusing treatment.

“Yeah,” John says softly.

He places his hand over Freddie’s, careful to not disturb the IV. Freddie is pale, almost matching John’s skin tone. Not to mention there isn’t a reaction to his presence despite how their bond sings at the contact. He can barely feel Freddie’s magic.

“He should be up and about in a day, I’d imagine. Have you managed to talk my dear nephew into getting examined?”

“Roger isn’t going to listen to me. He’ll collapse before leaving Brian’s side, and then he’ll crawl his way over here.”

He looks up when Doctor Taylor clicks his tongue, “as stubborn as his mother.”

John laces his fingers through Freddie’s, “can’t you make him sit down for an examination?”

“Roger isn’t going to do anything that he doesn’t’ want to,” Doctor Taylor replies, “but truthfully, it's best you boys get as much as you can from Brian now.”

His blood turns to ice and he looks up at the doctor, “what do you mean?”

“You know how these things go John; without a soul the body doesn’t have a reason to live. We can keep his brain activity functional and keep him breathing, but he isn’t going to wake up and be Brian again without his soul.”

John looks down and presses his free hand to his forehead. The sobs stick in his lungs, he can’t cry right now.

“And there’s no way to… summon it back?”

“Not without a world-walker and you’re going to get into a tug of war with a demon, and I don’t think – not to say you aren’t powerful – but I don’t think you have the strength to take him head-on.”

He looks away. That was exactly what he was thinking and short of making a deal with another demon any direct confrontation they have, they’re going to lose, obviously.

“I’m going to go talk to Roger,” the doctor says, “keep an eye on him.”

“Of course,” John whispers.

When Doctor Taylor leaves the room John looks to Freddie. He sends tiny pulses of magic through their contact. Not enough to rouse Freddie, but enough to give him a tiny little boost. Freddie’s hand is cold. Not as cold and clammy as Brian’s.

_Gods, _how had he failed so badly? How had they not seen this coming? John shakes his head, he supposes it doesn’t matter how it happened now, just that it had. He squeezes Freddie’s hand.

What are they going to do now?

Let Brian fade away? John shakes his head, everything in him screaming at the thought of not having Brian with them anymore. Not waking up and seeing the way the light falls across his face and tangles in his curls or seeing how he lights up when you get him started on a tangent on the starts.

John can’t imagine never hearing Red sing her song again. This band is important to him, shockingly so. He had thought that it would be nice for their coven, another way to bond, but he didn’t realize how much the music meant to him. Looking over and seeing Freddie holding everyone’s gaze as he prances around the stage, magic bubbling around him excitedly. He imagines living a life where he can’t turn around and see the stage lights catch in Roger’s hair as it flies around him as he crashes against the drums with an easy smile.

The room goes silent and he looks around. He doesn’t notice anything unusual, but it sounds like things are muffled. Percy’s voice bounces in his head.

_How are they?_

“Alive,” he murmurs.

_But you’re sad? _

“Yeah, Percy, I am.”

In eighteen hours his entire world has been knocked off its axis or rotation or whatever the word is that Brian would yell at him for getting wrong.

_But they’re alive?_

“They’re hurt really bad, Perc.”

_Oh. Maybe Veronica can help!_

John straightens, turning to where he feels his familiar gliding in the air.

“Veronica?” He whispers.

_She helped Julie!_

He shakes. John stares at the tile and it spins in front of him. Veronica had helped Julie. It hadn’t been his proudest moment, but he hadn’t known what else to do when his sister fell through the ice. When he rescued her, she hadn’t been breathing.

He shakes and presses both hands against his temple. For a moment he regrets letting go of Freddie, letting him coast through the sea of unconsciousness by himself. His stomach twists and he gags, but slowly the idea roots in his head. He looks up and sees that the room is much darker than it had been a moment ago. Almost as if they were trying to guide him to the answer without telling him.

John clears his throat, nearly sicking on the floor and turning back to Freddie and places a kiss on his cheek. Percy is sending him worried emotions through their bond and he pushes back a gentle reassurance that he is fine. Roger would never forgive him, and even Freddie might not be so willing.

Brian has so much ground to cover between learning about his heritage and abilities and coming back from this kind of trauma. More to the point, Roger isn’t going to let him leave this premises even if they currently can’t stand each other. John knows that without even having to ask.

He pushes his hand through his hair again.

“In for a penny,” he says, “in for a pound.”

_They’ll be happy! _Percy chirps.

John wishes that he could have the confidence of his familiar. They might be happy, and if this goes to plan, they will be happy, but he doesn’t know where this will leave him.

He kisses Freddie one more time.

“I love you.”

Freddie sighs but doesn’t otherwise respond. John sends another curl of magic through their bond before heading out of the room. He looks down the hallway when he hears fighting.

_“You’re threatening to kill him!”_

_“Roger! There’s nothing of him left! Do you think that you killing yourself is something that he would want?”_

_“You don’t know him!”_

_“If he loved you as much as you love him, then I know exactly what he would want. Would you want him harming himself when you were already gone!”_

John falls back against the wall, this time unable to stop the sobbing. His chest burns as he jostles his injured ribs and he folds over to press his arms against them to give some more stability to them as he gasps for air. The tile bites into his knees.

They’ve already lost one. Can he really risk two?

His mind is filled with the first time that he saw Brian, all wild hair and an exhausted smile. John had thought that he was the most beautiful thing at that moment, the way their magic curled around each other without having touched or bonded. He had always loved Brian’s eyes, that gentleness that never seemed to leave no matter how upset or stubborn he got.

He has to try.

Roger probably won’t want him after this, but maybe one day will realize that John could have tried, and their fate will have been the same.

_There’s the kicker, _he thinks, _I can’t let our Songbird die without having tried._

John gets his feet underneath him. Standing, and nearly toppling over, but he keeps his arms pressed to his ribs to fight against the hiccupping jumps that send his ribs spasming. He sends one more glance down the hallway, ignoring the words that come out of the heated exchange – oh Clare is fighting now too.

Certain that they will be occupied for the time being, John makes his way to the storeroom. He apologizes to Roger and the Taylor Clan’s patron god for what he wants to do. There is a satchel hanging on one of the shelves. John grabs it and starts shoving the summoning ingredients into it, along with an old flint box. It gets heavier with each item, and his guilt begins to match it.

He sets it to the side once it is fully stocked. John knows he’ll need to sneak into the curiosity shop to pick up the two glass orbs.

John grabs one of the smaller cauldrons from the top shelves and sets it on the Bunsen burner lighting it up. He summons a tiny amount of water and brings it to boil, tossing in a quartz crystal. Once it is boiling, he moves around the room. Roger is the one that usually makes any potions that they need – the Taylor Clan being exceptional brew masters – but he does remember the old recipe. He makes it a little stronger because this is no longer a sleeping aid for a crabby child.

The potion puffs up a cloud of vile green smoke, that makes him drowsy even through his covered face. Admittedly he should have put on a mask before he started brewing it. He runs through the list of ingredients that he added, to make sure that he isn’t going to accidentally kill someone.

John pours it carefully into a glass vial and puts a stopper in it before storing it in his pocket. He snaps his finger and the cauldron and the Bunsen burner clean themselves and he sets them back on top. The storage room doesn’t look like there has been anyone rummaging around through it. He picks up the satchel and slings it across his back.

There isn’t anyone in the hallway, but to make sure, he takes the long way to the “kitchen.” Mostly it contains a coffee machine and a small fridge to store lunch and beverages in if people were so inclined to cold drinks. John keeps his pace even, on the off chance that someone spots him. Not that they would expect him to do something underhanded.

He sets the satchel in the corner of the kitchen, hidden between the rubbish bin and a chair, but near enough to the door that he’ll be able to move without having to stop his progress too much. John sighs and turns on the coffee pot, making sure to brew enough for four cups. He knows that Clare won’t drink one and Doctor Taylor often lets his go cold first if he drinks it at all.

The smell of coffee fills the tiny space, and to his great surprise, it brings Doctor Taylor into the room.

“Ah, John, don’t bother pouring me a cup, but go ahead and leave it on the warmer,” he says.

“Sure thing,” he says, “I hope you don’t mind?”

“No. Roger is going to need some if he keeps on this crusade of staying awake to solve unsolvable problems.”

John bites his lip, “is everything going okay?”

“Grief is never easy. He is in firm denial about Brian’s condition, not to mention Freddie’s. Be there for him.”

He looks away, “of course. How could I not be?”

Doctor Taylor claps him on the shoulder as he passes back out of the kitchen taking with him a banana, “atta boy.”

John presses his arms against his stomach again. Waves of guilt unsettling what little he has managed to keep down today. The coffee machine abruptly cuts off causing him to jump. He sighs and holds the edge of the counter as he bends down and stretches out his back. He shakes out his hands.

He reaches up and grabs two mugs. From the times they have been here prior, he knows that Roger loves the mug with the slightly chipped handle. John runs his thumb over the chip, only for it to crack more. A bad omen. There isn’t anything in the clinic, but he closes his eyes and lets his magic skim the surrounding area.

It’ll be nice to have Brian to tell him where the spirits and demons are. He grabs a new mug, instead, one dark brown and one baby blue and pours the coffee in each, putting only half the amount in the blue mug before reaching into his pocket and pouring out a quarter of the vial. The coffee splashes over the side and turns into the color of a latte made with too much milk.

At least Roger likes his coffee with milk. John sniffs it, relieved to find that it doesn’t smell like a sleeping draught. He walks slowly back to Brian’s room. The hallways feel like they’re pressing into him and his chest is tightening. It’s the first time he has ever felt unwelcome in this hallway.

Roger is still pacing around Brian’s bed, but a cot has been set up in the corner, and a second one against the further wall. John closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh.

“Rog? I brought coffee,” he holds out the blue mug.

He flinches when Roger wheels on him with a scowl, but it slowly fades when he sees John’s peace offering.

“Thank you.”

John nods. Roger takes the mug and sniffs at it before blowing on it. The steam twists away and settles back in a straight line. He sips at his own coffee, wrinkling his nose because he forgot to add his own preferred flavoring in. Black coffee is drinkable, but it isn’t his favorite thing in the world to drink. He sets it back down on the table and moves over to Brian.

Roger watches him before finally making a choice and sipping at the coffee. His eyes widen before he sips at it a little more intently.

“S’good,” Roger mumbles.

“I’m glad,” John replies.

The guilt settles in his heart, and he can only hope that he stops Roger’s fall before anything happens to him. Instead of watching and alerting Roger that he is up to something, John instead looks at Brian. He brushes a curl out of his face. Even his curls seem less vibrate. A dull dark brown instead of the shimmer of a starry sky.

John places his hand on Brian’s cheek, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone. He hears the soft slide of a mug being set down, and he sees that Roger has drunk half of his cup and his holding onto the bed. Roger’s eyes glisten, and they fall to half-mast.

That is his cue to walk back around the side of the bed. Casually, and apparently in a search for comfort. Roger holds his arms tightly to his chest, watching John warily.

“I don’t think that we could have won,” Roger says, “whether we told him or not.”

John nods, “maybe. They seemed to have this all well planned.”

“I’m sorry,” Roger adds, “maybe him knowing gave him a fighting chance. You said he was awakening. Maybe. Maybe we were able to see him that last time because he knew.”

He doesn’t know if that’s more comforting to him, that Brian had been holding out for them to save him and they failed. Instead, he hums and wraps around Roger, pulling him back into his chest. Roger stiffens before he relaxes and turns so that he can place his head on John’s shoulder. They sway in place for a few minutes, watching the rise and fall of Brian’s chest.

“Uncle says that we’re going to have to intubate in a day, probably,” Roger whispers.

John closes his eyes, his mind filled with the thought of a plastic tube down Brian’s throat. Forcing air into his lungs. Forcing him to be alive for what? Their comfort? He shakes his head. So long as Brian is alive when he comes back, the intubation will have been worth it.

Roger sags a little heavier in his arms.

“Sorry, John,” Roger drags out the ‘s.’

“You haven’t slept in a long time, Roggie,” he places a gentle kiss to Roger’s head.

Against him, Roger nods. John can’t really make out his facial expression from this angle, but he can see that Roger’s sleepy blue eyes certainly look sleepy. He speeds up his swaying.

“Rest, I’ll take care of everything.”

Roger makes a quiet noise of protest, “but Fred…”

“You can see him when you wake up, love. For now, why don’t you curl up next to Brian.”

He carefully watches to make sure that Roger can get into the best without falling over. John would swear that he is asleep before his head even settles on Brian’s chest. Roger clings desperately to the thin sheet separating him from Brian, his face already furrowed and twisted in pain.

“Good night,” John says.

Roger doesn’t respond but sags and flexes his foot once before stilling. John bites his cheek, hating what he had just done. Sure, the blond needed the rest and John needs the head start, but maybe he should have spent a few minutes convincing his Coven – his partners – of his plan. They surely would want Brian back… but the cost will be his and no one else’s.

“I love you,” John whispers, brushing Roger’s bangs from his face.

He stares at Roger’s troubled visage and how even in sleep he sees to be pained by Brian’s fate. John knows Freddie would be the same. He took a vow to ensure that they would never hurt and that he would fix what wounds them.

“I love you too, Brian,” he murmurs, “I’ll see you soon.”

John dumps both mugs into the plant before leaving the room, He hopes that he didn’t kill the poor thing. Now that he’s thinking about it. A sleeping draught and plants usually don’t mix. He sighs and pops back into the room, coaxing a little bit of his nature magic into it, the already wilting leaves perk back up.

He looks up to see that Roger and Brian haven’t changed position, but quiet sniffles tell him that Roger is crying in his sleep. John bites his cheek and steps back out of the room.

_God’s above and below._

Doctor Taylor passes him in the hallway again, “guess I needed that coffee more than I thought.”

John offers a tiny smile and darts into Freddie’s room, to his surprise (and mild disappointment and great relief) is now awake. He steps forward, unsure of how aware Fred really is.

“Johnny,” Freddie purrs.

“Glad to see those beautiful brown eyes,” John says softly.

He perches on the hospital bed and rests his hand on top of Freddie’s – the one without the IVs. Absentmindedly stroking the back of Freddie’s hand. Freddie prods his bond with idle curiosity. John presses against Freddie’s tendril and sends soothing pulses of energy. He watches Freddie’s eyes close.

“So the dream about Brimi, is real.”

He bites his bottom lip, “yeah.”

Freddie sniffles and twists his hand so that their fingers are laced together. John stares at the wall while Freddie slowly breaks down next to him. He wishes he could comfort him, but John doesn’t know how to even begin. It isn’t as simple as reassuring Freddie that things will be fine because Freddie will try to (and possibly succeed) in talking him out of this.

When the sobbing calms down he turns his head to see that Freddie has fallen back asleep and Brian lets out a sigh of relief. He had hated watching Freddie break like that. John hated that he was too weak to comfort Freddie, lost in his own pain as he is.

He gives Freddie’s hand one more squeeze before sliding off the bed. John steps lightly, fighting back the urge to peer in on Roger and Brian again. Part of him wonders where the other Taylor’s have gone off to, and then shakes his head. Clare has probably gone to sleep, and Doctor Taylor might be doing research in the library. This is the only time he’ll have.

John grabs the satchel and slings it over his shoulder. He hurries down the steps and turns his head back to the clinic. The neon open sign flickers twice before going out.

_I’m sorry. _

* * *

He doesn’t remember the path to the way-gate being so overcrowded with shrubs and vines. John sniffs and shudders at the thick air. Curses are plentiful in here and he can only imagine what horrors he is walking past. When the wind cuts through the trees, filling his ears with a dirge, he almost gives up. It crawls into his brain and sinks into his soul; it freezes it and twists. He can hear the siren call of evil.

John closes his eyes and thinks about Roger’s bright grin and Freddie’s warm laugh and Brian’s soft gaze. Their spirits bolster him, and he presses on deeper. He has only been to the way-gate once. That day so deeply dug into him, that he remembers the stone that had been split in two and the snake’s tongue road. The directions had been whispered into his head, and he was guided by the caress of the temptress.

At the time, John hadn’t thought about how wrong the air felt. Now all he can think about is the suffocating feeling of a curse and it tangles with Brian laying on that stone table. He wonders if he had moved faster if they would have been able to stop any of this. Avoiding the vines would have been the greatest warning to heed.

John half wonders if that vision had been sent by the demon to try and trick them into thinking that they could win so that they would go.

John supposes that even though they had an inkling that this was a trap they still went. Leaving Brian to this fate would have gone against everything in his being. He wishes that he had brought Percy with him, he had left her as a guard at the clinic, or rather to keep Roger or Freddie from following him once they figure out that he has gone.

A harsh breeze tugs at his coat, and he pulls it tight around him and fastens it. The air temperature keeps dropping and he swallows as it sounds like with the wind brings the chattering of teeth. At the very least he’s found the way-gate. John turns the corner and spots the gate. It twists and arches up, two ebony points curl towards each other. An orb anchors the spot between worlds, it shimmers and illuminates the area like a red sunset.

Vines have grown between the two stones, leaving a thin veil of white. It’s streaked with red. John supposes if he wanted to think about it in a positive light, it looks like someone has shined a red spotlight through a fog machine. John crouches down sliding the satchel from his shoulder. He pulls out the materials and bowl with a pestle.

He stares at it, and he tries to remember in which order this goes. John pulls out his knife and rests it next to the bowl. Should he strip the dried herb leaves or does he grind it with the stem and all?

“For having bound your mortal soul to this life,” a voice crawls up his spine, “you’re certainly bad at living it.”

John lets out a sigh, “maybe I didn’t want to do the work.”

As he turns, he makes out a feminine figure. Her dress stops just above her ankles, and John can see how the vines wrap around them and disappear beneath the skit, not to be seen until they peek out from the sleeves of her dress and on her neck where they only craw a scant few centimeters onto her face. The dress flutters, it looks like peacock feathers. She’s still as beautiful as ever, but John knows he is the closest to seeing a Spriggan’s true form than any human should.

“Maybe,” Veronica grins, “it’s taken you a bit to call on us again. What is it this time? Wealth? Power? Love?”

He smiles despite himself. Veronica, for all that she is an immortal being, had always kept a form close to him in age. She’s also been very beautiful and at one point they had been good together.

“I need to go to hell.”

Veronica stares at him, and then blinks, “usually you tell other people to go.”

John clenches his jaw. He trusts Veronica as much as one _should _trust a Spriggan, but he doesn’t know how much he should offer. Considering that she could just go and spoil his plans. His body tightens when Veronica purses her lips and a tiny frown forms.

“I’m hoping this has nothing to do about Apollyon’s bragging about getting the last of the May line?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“John,” Veronica starts and then shakes her head, “that’s suicide. The demons are going to sense you and robbing from a Prince of Hell doesn’t result in longevity.”

“I know,” he whispers.

“You’re going to do it anyway? One of your bondmates, then?”

“Unless you can pull his soul to us…”

Veronica shakes her head and smiles sadly, “maybe if it were a familiar soul… this is… this is beyond everyone but another Prince of Hell.”

John crosses his arms, “I have to try. I can’t sit there knowing that he’s going to die when I could have _tried.”_

He closes his eyes and he feels Veronica’s arms go around him a tight hug. Her nails and vines dig into his body, but the pain grounds him. She steps away after a moment.

“John, you’ll _die. _Even if you don’t – your magic it will be changed. I know how much Roger hates cursed magic.”

“I have to, Ronnie,” he whispers, “it’s our fault. We hadn’t prepared him enough.”

“It isn’t your fault. How were you to know any of this?” Veronica says, “but I can see that I’m not going to win this argument.”

If Veronica is going to help him then that’s one less betrayal that he needs to worry about. Anyone else could close the gate behind him once he steps through, with Veronica he has a fighting chance to get back. John tilts his head, maybe he shouldn’t trust a Spriggan so openly.

“I assume you’re making a deal?” Veronica steps back again, her arms crossed and voice filling out with power.

“I am.”

“What is it you’re requesting?” Veronica asks.

John closes his eyes and thinks about the best way to phrase his request, “I want a stable passage to enter hell with, I want it to remain open so that I may return.”

“You’re asking I keep a portal to hell open?” Her voice lifts in surprise, “I can only offer you twelve hours, before things that shouldn’t be on this world try to make their way to it.”

“How would I know how long I have?” John frowns.

“I’ll give you a pocket watch that counts down,” Veronica replies, “but you understand what you’re asking me to do is also very dangerous for myself.”

He inclines his head. If he could do this himself, he would, but Veronica – and her kind – are the only ones that could possibly help him. It’s why he agreed to the terms in the first place. John had wanted to save Julie’s life, but if it were possible, he sensed something like this would happen as a child. It might have been some of Freddie’s oracle nature filtering through their unconfirmed bond.

Spriggans are Lost nature witches after all. If John isn’t careful, he could follow their fate, he wouldn’t mind it of course, if it was the only way to save his coven. Right now, it’s the only way that he can save _Brian. _John doesn’t expect that he’ll be welcomed back with open arms by Freddie and Roger.

“I know. I’m _sorry.”_

Veronica hums.

“If I had a choice…”

“You do,” Veronica says, “it's not an easy one but is the risk worth the reward?”

“Yes,” John answers immediately.

Brian – his coven – is worth any risk to his person. John figures that he may need to reevaluate how far he is willing to go. For now, he needs to try and wash the scene of Brian’s soul being ripped from his body from his mind.

Veronica presses her lips together. John figures that she wouldn’t agree with him.

“_Please, _Veronica,” his voice breaks, “I need to.”

She sighs and presses a palm to her head, “your first child. It’s mine to teach the ways of magic to.”

John stares. A child? All the people he is romantically involved with are _male. _He narrows his eyes, is Veronica only giving him this deal out of kindness because she knows it cannot be fulfilled. He has never met anyone of demon-kin or even curse users that wouldn’t try to get something more lasting than an impossibility. Or is she saying that his Coven isn’t going to take him back and he’ll find love with someone else?

“Deal,” John answers.

Veronica raises an eyebrow and her lips curl up, “so easily?”

“Yes.”

So she does know something he doesn’t. John shakes his head; he can ask Freddie about the future later. He extends his hand already pushing the familiar bond magic through to his palm. Veronica takes it and squeezes. Golden light shimmers between them fore taking on the form of a rope and sliding between them. He hisses at the burn as the deal sears into his flesh.

Once they let go, John sees where the magic has burned through his shirt and left a second ring around his arm, this one is still raw and puffy, but will eventually turn to a white scar-like the other one.

Veronica holds out a pocket watch. It’s green, and the lid is in the shape of a leaf. The chain is dark black and almost seems to move on its own. He holds out his uninjured arm and grips it tightly.

“Remember, it will count down from 12, once it hits 12 again. The portal will close, and you’ll be unable to reenter this plane from this position.”

John nods, “I understand.”

“I wouldn’t have made the deal if you didn’t,” Veronica says.

She steps forward and places a delicate kiss on his cheek. John doesn’t push her away and instead looks towards the grass. For a moment he is filled with regret. Everything had been uprooted the second that he found Roger and Freddie, and perhaps he should have been more delicate in explaining that to Veronica. She had said she understood, but it still feels wrong that he had done it in the way that he did.

Veronica towards the way-gate. John takes a step back, unsure of what kind of magical intensity he is going to fill with such a large Cursed Object. He raises his hands to protect his face once Veronica starts chanting, and after a minute the fog starts to solidify and the orb at the top starts to spark. Lightning crackles, when it strikes the fog it ignites. The heat and pressure force air from his lungs and his ribs protest the expansion of his chest.

“It’s open,” Veronica yells.

John can barely hear her over the roar of the flame. He swallows and closes his eyes. He sends a prayer to the gods above, not sure how much influence they’ll have where he is going and bends down to grab his satchel. Veronica groans in the effort and he nods in her direction.

“Thank you.”

He takes a deep breath and steps through the gate. The heat burns and bites back a scream as it curls around his injured arm and ribs. It feels like he’s falling but at the same time, he’s floating. Each ember that singes him burns but when he looks down at his arms, the only visible injuries are the ones he had before entering the way-gate. John feels his body drop through yellow. The color whizzes by him and he is dizzy for all that it is an endless expanse. The color mutes into a sickly yellow-green.

John yells when he hits the ground. Jagged rocks bite into his flesh before they crumble and leave a brownish residue on his skin. The ground had just appeared perhaps a second before he impacted it. Looking up he can see that his vision had been obscured by the yellowish clouds. He takes a deep breath, only for the air to push out his lungs like he is taking a drag of a cigarette. Except instead of being able to exhale the smoke, it stays.

When he coughs his lung rattle as they did when he had been stricken with a case of pneumonia. It might be possible that he won’t _survive _twelve hours, much less be able to find Brian’s soul within that time. John allows his gaze to wander over the horizon. He had been expecting pits of fire and lava and red skies. Instead, the only thing that had a hint of red was the ground. The clouds cast everything in a shadow and everything was hazy.

Rotten eggs are the heaviest smell, and in the distance, he could hear torn screams of pain that faded into wind. John looks around, having no idea of where to go and kilometers to cover. He closes his eyes; had he been destined to fail from the beginning?

A tiny blip in the back of his head makes him pause. It almost felt like striking a piano key once. John stops and waits. Sure enough, another blip flares up like a match. He nearly weeps for it is in the same spot that Brian had occupied. John pushes against it and this time it ignites and curls around him.

He has never actively searched for his partners’ locations; he has only been vaguely aware of where they are. John crosses his legs, ignoring how sticky his skin feels now. His nails dig into his knees and he lets out a long breath. The blip is slowly unfurling, but as it does, he can see it thinning out until it barely connected. John reinforces the strand as best he can. If he loses it again, he has a feeling that it will never reignite.

The strand slowly mores and spreads out. John can see it start to act as a guide, it curves in the distance and wraps around him before tugging him in a direction. He hopes his eyes, keeping a tight hold on the bond lest it decides to weaken and fade without him knowing.

John reaches into his satchel pulled out a glass orb and filling it with a tiny amount of his own magic. He breaks through the softest part of the ground that he could find and buries it. The dirt covers it, and he makes sure to focus on the feeling. He’ll have an attunement to get back to the way-gate at east.

“Eight hours,” he murmurs.

He’ll give himself eight hours to try and find and save Brian before turning back. John prays that it will be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that everything has gone to hell let me know what you think in the comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!!


	13. When there is nothing to do, will you do all you can?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a few days late even with my sickness that's fun!!

John rips off the bottom of his shirt to tie over his mouth. The heavy air is finally getting to him. It digs into his lungs and forces any pure air out. He sniffles and gags. Part of him is afraid to see how long he has been walking, maybe he has already reached his eight-hour mark and that Brian is nowhere to be found. He can sense him enough to know that he is going in the right direction, but hell is massive.

He stumbles.

The ground digs into his palms, and the pain grounds him for a moment. John inhales sharply and digs out the pocket watch. It takes a few seconds, but the hour hand finally ticks down to eight. Five hours left. Brian must be near; John doesn’t know what he will do if he must leave empty-handed.

He picks himself up, shoving the pocket watch back into his pocket and securing the tie more firmly. Exhaustion eats away at his bones and he can feel the sparking of Roger’s bond which means that he is either having a nightmare or has woken up from the sleeping draught. Freddie’s ribbon is still level.

The problem with hell, John thinks, is that there is not much change. Its dusty and hazy yellow, there are peaks but they seem to be equally sparse and equally dense. If John had made any turns, he would fear that he is walking in a circle, except he has marked a path, and when he turns around, he can see the single fluttering strip of cloth that he strapped to a branch. He doesn’t know how he keeps finding branches when he has yet to see a single tree.

John also knows that he is alone. It might be a kinder fate than wading through an endless stream of demons, but it makes the screaming that much more disconcerting. He supposes that he could be on one of the vacant levels of hell, the ones that the Princes prefer to use when doing their business.

He kicks a rock and the echoing makes him jump. He hadn’t been aware that he had started to walk again, but his feet carry him forward with numb determination, still closing the distance between him and Brian’s soul. What can he do but follow that sweet song?

John starts counting his steps to break up the monotony of the world.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

He loses count at two-hundred and ten. John shrugs and starts counting again.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five._

The sand bites at his eyes and he stops to rub at the grittiness. John only manages to rub it in further and he hisses, trying to wipe it out with his sleeves but again only serves to make his eyes itchier. He stops and blinks, in the distance, he can see something breaking the horizon line. His gritty eyes are forced closed again with the pain. He manages to crack them open enough that he sees a figure. Not just any figure, but a figure with a humanoid shape.

Brian’s bond twitches and he starts to run. His feet slip on the loose ground and he flails his arms to try and catch himself, but he only manages to overbalance himself and crash into the ground. He hisses as his ribs scream in protest and he looks up only to see the figure flicker and vanish.

John closes his eyes.

“John!”

He wakes up and stares at the tacky glow stars on the ceiling. The one is still hanging valiantly to the sticky putty, but he isn’t sure how long. John frowns and rubs at his eyes, half wondering why he thinks that they should feel gritty.

“Deaky? Are you awake?”

“Brian?” He sits straight up.

Brian blinks at him, dark circles ring around the bottom of his eyes, and part of his curls are flat as though he had fallen asleep on them. The rest of his hair is tied back in the way he usually does when they get into his face while studying. John shakes his head, trying to clear the funny feeling of relief and elation.

It’s _just _Brian, and yes, he loves him… but surely such a reaction is a little much.

“Ah,” Brian’s lips part.

John rubs his eyes, surprised to see that he had been crying. He scrubs his face with his palms and tries to put away the emotion.

“Must’ve been a bad dream,” John replies airily.

Brian smiles wryly, “don’t I know that feeling? Do you want to talk about it?”

He nods and opens his mouth, about to explain what was surely another nightmare about failing an exam or losing Julie but the words get stuck. John tilts his head, “I can’t remember it.”

Brian purses his lips, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I suppose… did I wake you?”

“I fell asleep at the desk, so this time it’s a good thing.”

The laugh is melodic and hopeful, he can lose himself in the sound. John raises his hands, trying to figure out _why _he is surprised that he can touch Brian. More importantly, _why _is he surprised that Brian is warm. Something is…

“Deaky? Are you sure you’re all right mate?”

“What, yeah. Sorry. My brain must still be half asleep.”

Brian’s lips twitch upward, and he scoots forward, wrapping one boney arm around John’s torso and pulling him to the bed. John lays back willingly, more than happy to get a few more hours wrapped in Brian’s embrace.

_Deaky!_

He startles. John can feel Roger’s bond, jumping with agitated energy, the type that happens when he is bored, and Freddie must be asleep elsewhere in the house. Brian curls up next to him, resting his head on John’s shoulder. He raises his hand to toy with the curls. They’re soft and seem to be radiating the light from the glow stars.

John looks upward to see that all of them are in their place. Firmly stuck to the ceiling. He narrows his eyes.

Brian is on top of him pushing him down. He feels heat prick in his belly. It _has _been a while and Brian is rarely so bold. John raises his hands and pushes through the mess of curls before hooking his fingers into the back of Brian’s head and pressing their lips together.

For a moment, their lips meet at Brian’s lips feel cold and fake. John pulls away with a quiet hum of confusion before Brian is pressing their lips together again and this time it feels exactly as it always has. Warm and perfect and exactly the kind of kiss he doesn’t get with Roger’s eagerness and Freddie’s passion. Brian lets him set the pace, lets him decide what he wants to give.

Their hips press together, and heat stirs in his belly, but he doesn’t feel the urge to go further. This is strange because he knows they haven’t done anything for a bit and John is usually more than happy to have some sort of bedroom escapade.

Brian’s hands coast through his hair and tug. John nips at his lips in warning, but strangely it only seems to embolden Brian. He drops his hands to Brian’s chest in order to push him away. Brian, predictably, whines at the distance between them. Normally a little dominance from Brian would be exciting, but everything feels off.

John looks back at the ceiling. The stars are still hanging on to their putty, but as he watches, one loses its fight with gravity and begins to dangle by a point. He could have sworn that one was already hanging.

Brian makes a noise of confusion before pushing their lips together. John gives into it again, allowing his hands to glide through Brian’s hair, but he stops. He has _never _been able to easily slip his fingers through Brian’s mess of curls. They always get stuck. The kiss feels cold and stale and fake.

He pushes Brian away, sparing only a moment of guilt at Brian’s crestfallen hazel eyes.

“What are you!” He shouts.

John raises his hands to his temples, bunching his wavy strands into his hair, before sinking down onto his knees. Instead of the plush gray carpet of their room – old room. The old flat – he sinks onto the dried clay of hell. He looks up only to see the figure of Brian start to lose opacity and turn into a shimmering blue form with white for eyes before fading away into a gust of powdered snow.

“Memories are hard.”

His heart jumps into his throat. John looks out to the broken horizon of hell – broken? He glances around. The yellow haze has thickened into orange and the air is more breathable, but it leaves a coating on his throat like chili powder. The sky has turned to ash, clouds falling under each other like tornadoes he has seen in American movies.

Lightning crashes only a few meters from him. The electricity bursts through him, he feels his bones splintering. Then comes the ringing in his ears, as though someone dropped a microphone in front of an amp and then turned on a megaphone. He digs his nails into his skull.

Everything snaps back into focus and his brain is still rattling. He doubles over and takes heaving breaths, attempting to even out his breathing. With each breath, he tastes ozone and starts gagging. John drags his nails down his face towards his throat, trying to chase the taste away.

Something grabs his jaw and yanks his head back, and now he is staring into two white pits. John shudders and tries to back away from it, but his legs don’t want to get underneath him. It feels like they’re still solidifying from the lightning strike.

“Humans are so funny,” it purrs.

John drops to the ground, yelping as once more his ribs take the brunt of the impact. He remembers Doctor Taylor’s words about them slipping into his lung. Judging by his current predicament, that might be the kinder fate.

Where is his soul going to go, if he dies here? Considering he is here as his physical self.

A foot presses onto his chest and he chokes, pushing weekly at the cloven hoof. A tail wraps around his throat.

“Hmm.”

John tries to scoot away when it bends down near him. Its vile breath dries out what moisture he has managed to keep in his eyes. He can’t exactly describe what it smells like, but he knows that he will never be able to stomach eating onions again after this.

“You’ve got the taint, boy.”

The pressure releases and he sags to the ground. John wraps a hand around his throat, trying to ease some of the aches. He looks up but doesn’t make eye contact this time. Its skin shimmers with a golden glow, as though it had been dusted with glitter, and heavy rings wrap around its horns.

John lowers his eyes, too nervous about what his fate would be if he met its eyes again. The most human thing about it is its mouth, but even he saw the rows of fangs hidden behind the smirk.

“Oh dear, can’t speak?”

He bites his tongue.

“No, you can,” the demon says, “but you won’t. Clever. No wonder they call you the smart one.”

John shivers. He doesn’t want to think about any creatures in hell talking about him _or _his coven. Instead, he crosses his arms and doubles over, trying to make himself smaller. It is a stupid move, taking his eyes off his opponent, but he does know that demons might take looking at them as a slight.

“So, a human fully in hell,” the demon, “I wonder what kind of reasoning you may have. Power? Glory? A deal gone horribly wrong?”

He unwinds one arm to dig it into the soft dirt to keep from speaking. All of this is just a word game now.

The ground shifts underneath him, where there was originally dark soil of volcanic ash grass springs up and he looks up. He can’t see the demon at all, but he does spot Roger’s golden crown. John smiles, he makes out Freddie’s low rumbling laugh intertwining with Brian’s barking one. Roger is balancing on one foot, miming something.

His gaze softens.

“John!” Roger squawks before tipping over into Freddie’s lap.

Roger pops his head back up with a lopsided grin, and apparently no urge to remove himself from Freddie’s lap.

“Thought you might’ve gotten lost on your way to the loo!”

“Wouldn’t it be way back?” Brian counters softly.

“End’s the same, ‘innit?” Roger shoots back.

Brian purses his lips and opens his mouth. Roger turns back to John, already moving past the conversation with Brian. He laughs at Brian’s pout, and Freddie’s nearly patronizing head pat. John steps forward, but the image begins to ripple. The ripples distort the image and bounce around each other as though the image was in a pool. He pulls his hand away, which only causes the scene to collapse and cover him.

John sputters, wiping at his face, only to feel the grit from before covering his palm. He spits out some of the grainy dirt and looks up. The demon before is smiling in – and if a demon could feel such a thing – amusement. It makes him yank his hand back from the scant centimeters in front of the demon’s chest. He cradles it to his body, flexing it as though he had been burned.

The demon laughs, it sounds as though there were a thousand snakes hissing at once. John covers his ears and drops back to his bum. He presses his head to his knees.

“Oh, don’t be silly boy,” the demon grips the back of his head, gently pulling his head back, “you can’t say you didn’t expect hellish delights while in hell. Take a moment. What is it you humans say?”

It pauses, “when in Rome?”

John shakes his head, “I won’t!”

“You buried your magical essence in hell soil, did you not think about what it would cause?” The demon’s lips curl, “no, you didn’t think about it all. Foolish mortal.”

“No,” John gasps.

He has been ignoring the tar-like feeling in his lungs. It had been the air of this place, but now that the demon had planted the seed, he feels how it pokes through the gaps in his magic. There is no way he’ll be able to hide it from someone as sensitive as Roger, and he has no idea what kind of results his spells will give him now.

“You don’t want this power?” This time the demon sound genuinely surprise, “no, I suppose _you _wouldn’t, Spriggan boy.”

John swallows but it gets stuck in his throat and he wraps his hands around his throat again, but instead of resting it there, his hands start to squeeze. He gasps and uses his other hand to try and pull it away, but his other hand just grasps tighter and it gets stuck. He looks up at the demon.

“Humans _are _pretty, especially on their knees.”

He sputters. The demon is doing this to him, but it has such a lockdown on his magic that he can’t flare it at all to try and break through this curse. John doesn’t know that it _is _a curse and not just some kind of demon ability.

“But you,” the demon runs a finger along his jaw.

John sags forward as the force keeping him in place vanishes. This time he keeps his eyes on the demon, pulling in the air as best that he can. His body is trembling, and now that he is focused, he can see the waves of power radiating off of this demon. He bites down on his lip, this isn’t just another demon. It is a Prince of Hell.

Just not the one that he was looking for.

“See, you come down here… for what? _Love?” _The demon chuckles.

He recoils.

“Ah yes, you’re looking for your lover. How sweet, most don’t mean it when they say they’d go to hell and back.”

John narrows his eyes. He doesn’t like that this demon seems to know about him.

“Oh, hush, boy. I was pulling your memories out earlier. You’re looking for the curly boy.”

_Brian. _He screams out, his magic starts prodding the spot that the guitarist’s bond should be. It’s much fainter, as though he had been pulled away from where he wanted to be. John swallows. How long has he been at the hands of the demon? Has he already missed his portal and now he is trapped?

Freddie and Roger will have each other at least.

He wipes his face again. His eyes are too dry to properly cry but his chest still jumps in time with his sobs. The demon prince laughs, and John tries to force the emotions down. He has a job that he needs to do. This _thing _won’t stop him from that.

“Precious,” the demon smirks.

“What would you do for him?”

John bites back the _anything _on his lips_. _No matter how true it is, he won’t give that kind of ammunition to a demon prince of all things. It is bad enough having Veronica know, and she won’t do anything untoward with the information.

“Not saying? Perhaps too much?”

John looks away. Lying is possibly worse than saying the truth.

The demon lifts his chin, this time with a gentle guiding hand, dare he say it? A kind hand. John is drawn into those pools of white before the nails dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks.

“You see, Apollyon,” the demon says lowly, “has something that I want – or rather someplace.”

John works his mouth open and closed. He knows where this is going, and he has already bargained away what he does not have.

“Then your lovey boy is going to _rot _here. He’ll be fun for a decade or two before he’s too much of a sniveling soul. Then he will be fed to the hounds.”

John hates it when Brian cries, he can’t imagine how he would feel knowing that he is in so much pain. This is not the fate that he is meant to have. Freddie promised them decades. John wants that future desperately.

“What -where do you want from him?”

“His realm of course, what else could I want from that sniveling fool?”

John blinks.

The demon waves its hand, “it’s beyond your understanding, but you help me, I help you. The easiest deal there is.”

“How could I help you?” John bites his tongue.

“Apollyon is many things, but he is traditional, he’ll let you have a chance to win back your lover’s soul in a game. While you do that, I sneak around and” the demon snaps his fingers.

John leaps away from the geyser of flames that erupts near his feet. He looks at the crater, which is quickly filled with ash. He chews on his tongue, which is gummy and his mouth his filled with the taste of copper. John spits out a wad of blood, careful to keep it away from the demon lest it takes the action as a blood bargain.

“I enter an honest duel, dishonorably?”

The demon shrugs, “it depends on how much you think demons value honor.”

He frowns. Demons never go back on their deals, but he doesn’t know if that’s because they _can’t, _or they choose not to. It might vary demon to demon. John raises one hand, careful to keep his eyes on the demon and runs it through his hair. He wrinkles his nose at the dust and brittleness of his hair. What would Freddie say?

“That’s all I have to do? Is… distract him?”

“Of course, do I look like the type to lie?”

John quirks an eyebrow.

“You learn fast, Spriggan Boy.”

“And what do I call you? Or what would I know you by?”

“Those are two very different questions,” the demon says, “but I suppose the most common name you would know me by is Çor.”

“Oh,” John says softly, “once you get this place, we’re finished. I am no longer beholden to you?”

“You’ll always be beholden to me, Spriggan Boy, who do you think let your magic _turn _instead of burn inside of you and burn you up.”

“Witch magic can’t survive here. Why do you think so many witches trade it away when seeking powers?”

“I never asked for that!” John shouts his voice breaks.

“You did, you dear boy when your little sister drowned. And again, when you asked sweet Veronica to come here. Spriggan Boy, you care not what you do to yourself so long as you can _love.”_

John bites down on his lip.

He turns and spots Brian standing on the horizon. He is spread out on the shore, flicking water idly at Roger, who is pouting and trying to hide behind Freddie. John smiles fondly, this is the day after they had Brian for the first time. He closes his eyes and his skin turns into a gentle warmth on his skin, even his hair dampens with the pool.

“Do you want to know the truth of that day?” Çor’s voice swirls around him.

The perfect day turns cloudy and dark. Trees become possessed with turned nature sprites, even the tiny bubbles of gentle energy pop and linger heavily in the air.

“The truth of that purification spell you used?” The demon laughs, cutting himself off.

John’s stomach feels as though he has twelve stones sitting in it. If a demon finds it funny… what had they missed? Those days were _perfect. _Brian was happy.

“That purification spell you used, it didn’t discriminate between good magic and bad. It _cleansed _everything. Every protection dear old Grandmother May gave to her sweet grandson. Gone. You let Apollyon right in the front door.”

He chokes. No. _No._ That can’t be – it’s _their _fault? John gasps, pressing his palms to his eyes again and presses against his skin to stop the convulsing. No. Çor is lying to him. It has to be. The purification spell wouldn’t have – it couldn’t have.

“Ah, your Birdie – “

“Don’t call him that!” John snaps.

It might not have been his smartest moment, but that name is _theirs. _

“Brian then,” Çor shrugs, “Brian is a very good actor. He hides so much from you three, right under your noses. It’s no wonder his heart was so easy for Apollyon to twist and claim.”

John shakes his head, “stop! You’re just – you're manipulating me!”

Çor almost looks as though it is rolling his eyes, “of course I am, but only with the truth dear Spriggan Boy.”

He pushes away, only to jump when the grass tickles his forearm. It is night now, only a few clouds in the sky. John looks around, spotting Brian dressed in a jumper and a pair of shorts. He doesn’t look much different than the other scene, his hair livelier. John wants to reach out and hug him.

His hand is only a scant few centimeters away from Brian’s back, but he sees how rigid Brian has gone. Brian’s eyes are unfocused, and his breathing is heavier. He turns around and stares at – no through – John, focusing on something behind him. John turns, but something cold brushes over him and he turns back around to see a shadowy figure has its fist plunge through Brian’s chest.

John screams, but there aren’t any signs that it had happened. Brian sinks to the ground trembling and gasping for air but no longer reacting to the shadow, who licks its hand before vanishing like a cloud torn apart by the wind. John kneels, his hands hovering above Brian’s shoulder.

He blinks and his hands are hovering above a rock. John scowls and turns back towards Çor.

“That’s a _lie! _Brian would have told us!”

“He didn’t _know _to,” Çor says easily, “he thought it was another bad hallucination. And there was nothing stopping Apollyon for sinking that belief in him deeper, hm. You did this to him.”

John stands while rubbing his chest, turning away from Çor for the first time, looking out as though he is going to spot Brian in the distance. Running towards him. All of this was their fault? No. It had to be something else?

“You made it easier,” Çor singsongs.

John covers his ears but Çor’s words rattle around him like the lightning strike from before. The truth of them finally sink into his lung and he coughs. No matter how dry this place is, he is finally able to push out a few tears, he covers his mouth and shakes his head. No, the demon was manipulating him. Çor admitted to it. These things were taken out of context.

“I never lied, Spriggan Boy.”

He shakes his head again.

“You help me, and you get your Brian back.”

Çor’s hands rest on his shoulders and he stops moving, aware of those nails and what they could do to his throat. John doesn’t know that he would try to stop him. If all of this is true and they had for all purposes left the door unlocked, then maybe this should be his punishment.

“You can have him. You and your boys will be together,” Çor breathes, “think of it.”

It’s so easy to imagine. John can close his eyes and picture late-night brainstorming sessions – late only because they didn’t want to go sleep and not because Brian couldn’t. He can see it with dancing in meadows with Roger, barefoot and laughing. He can see it with watching Freddie own the stage. Being together with them is the easiest thing for John to imagine.

He also knows that everything he has done is unforgivable to Roger. The deals with demons the promises with Spriggans. John knows even without that he still betrayed Roger’s trust because of the sleeping draught.

Freddie might be easier to win back. Certainly, he would understand once Brian is alive and vibrant again with an understanding of their world.

“I’ll do it,” he forces out, “I’ll help you.”

Çor laughs.

John prays to the gods above if they still will lend an ear, that this is all he is promising this demon prince.

* * *

Çor navigates them to the plane of hell that Apollyon is. John grimaces, because his gateway hadn’t been anywhere near, and it would have been a lost cause trying to find Brian. He still feels the faintest flickers of Brian’s bond, but it grows stronger now that John can get a firm grip on it.

“The boy is a fighter,” Çor hums, “maybe natural is a more apt term. It doesn’t surprise me. His grandmother was brilliant. Shame she died for nothing.”

John clenches his fists. He also can’t believe that they allowed for a life pendant to be shattered like that. Something like that had been unimaginable. It is respected. Untouchable. A person’s greatest sacrifice.

“Now remember, answer the first two. Take as long as you can without Apollyon gaining suspicion. But have them show you Brian’s soul.”

John nods. He wouldn’t do this deal without the promise of what he is after.

_Artemis hear my weary cry, let my soul rest and body join the hunt._

_The moon is my beginning and my end. For I have loved nothing greater._

Çor laughs at him, “prayers little Spriggan Boy.”

John scowls at it. If he has nothing, then is his family still has Artemis’ blessing. She cannot forsake his blood because the gods are honor-bound in a way demons are not, but he does not if his falsities and mistakes have weighed greater. Whatever is going to happen will, but he finds some comfort in thinking that he will not stand alone at the end of the day.

They approach a gilded gate. It curls and twists with dark rods. The pattern is a tortured face, screaming in grotesque horror and the points of the bars appear to be sharpened ruby. Çor clicks its tongue.

“Such tacky décor,” it says, “well, this is where we break apart. Good luck to you and Brian.”

John stares but Çor has already gone. He runs a hand through his hair, which has gone back to being caked with dirt. He doesn’t know why he is surprised, for every trace of water that he has found in this place has been because of Çor’s trickery. As he steps forward the gate swings outward.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Without having much of a choice John steps through the gate only for it to start to slam behind him, pushing him further into the compound. He is flung forward, and this time he knows for certain that his rib has slipped. He can’t catch his breath and a burning sensation erupts from underneath the bandages. John forces himself onto his back, raising his arms with some difficulty to try and _breathe._

John stares up at the sky. This one is perhaps the prettiest one that he has seen in hell. It looks like watercolors have blended together; someone has dragged watery-red over watery-blue leaving very strong patches of purple. This plane is perhaps the most vibrant he has seen. He can make out cactuses and desert grasses in the corner of his eyes, even the soil is closer to that one would find in a farmer’s field. Perhaps still too dry and fine to hold much fertility, but better than the clay and ash of before.

Once he finally catches his breath, he sits up, holding in the groan and he looks around. Ahead of him, he can see a manor, but there is a strong tug to the back of his head. He focuses on it, and it happens again. Brian’s spot is nearly jumping with the proximity and John turns as though in a trance.

Each step is as shaky as it is sure. He feels his feet sink into the ground and he wonders if he would sink through the ground. To choke on the dust and never be seen again. John shakes his head, trying to get himself together, and to break himself from the trance – as much as it pains him to do so – he pulls out the pocket watch.

The hour hand points delicately at the three. It is much longer than he expected but a fewer number of hours than he would hope to use for bargaining. Çor said nothing about getting him out of hell. John supposes that if it comes to it, he could spend a few moments figuring out how to force his new magic to open a gate to the mortal world.

That makes him hesitate. He shouldn’t use that as a Plan A. John knows that he shouldn’t use that magic _at all. _The more that he would use it, the more tantalizing it will become. The forbidden fruit. The great corruptor. Greater powers than him have failed at keeping the temptation at bay.

He can worry about that when he knows that he can return to the mortal plane. Still, he follows where he can feel Brian’s soul tugging on him. This path cannot be wrong, and it is a much safer fate than barging into the manor home of a prince of hell.

The air around him curls with expectation, but it curls away from him, leaving him short of breath and grasping for something that is no longer there. This air had been the gentlest for him to breath so far, and he wonders what Çor could want of it. To ruin it? Or because it is so mortal plane-like that it is desirable? He finds it hard to imagine that any demons are so enamored with it that they would seek it for their own powers. Perhaps how fertile the soil is, somehow is connected to the place of power on the level?

He turns the corner and is met with a demon sitting on a throne, surrounded by bottles of shimmering blue stardust. John shakes his head because that is exactly what Brian’s soul had been and there are _so many. _Are all these human souls? Why should he be surprised, this is a demon after all. Now on his own plane, John sees why this one is befitting of the title Prince of Hell.

His bronze skin glistens and is coated with a fine red powder, as though he had crushed rubies and smeared it into his flesh. Large gemstones adorn the rings on his fingers, on for each and then a silver thumb band. John swallows, those hands are easily the size of his torsos. Unlike Çor’s horns, which had been decorated in only golden bands, Apollyon has chains dangling from his. They are weighed down by diamonds and almost form their own protective weave.

“Ahh, the Spriggan Boy comes to my doorstep,” Apollyon laughs, “I wondered how long it would be before the foolhardy deals.”

Apollyon tilts his head, “but I must say, I never expected a visit in the flesh. For that, I grant you a boon.”

“Give me Brian’s soul back! You have no use for it!”

“I do, but I can’t imagine your feeble mortal mind would understand what kind of power a world-walker does possess.”

John opens his mouth and closes it. He is sure that Brian would only have been a clairvoyant if he had been trained and raised properly. Something they had done, or something that was done to Brian, had changed him. Made him that target that people paint him as. He grits his teeth, giving the soft flesh of his mouth a break for once.

“But, if the boon is your lover boy’s soul, I cannot deny you it – or the chance to win it back.”

He nods, “what are your terms?”

“Humans, always to the point. No sense of dramatics or theater – well your _Freddie _gets it.”

“Keep their names from your mouth,” John growls.

“Spriggan Boy has some bite now that he has some power in his veins,” Apollyon laughs.

John finds himself almost wishing for Çor’s snake laughter, this only sounds like nails on a chalkboard. He folds his fingers into his palm, his nails bite into his skin and he inhales sharply.

“Hm,” Apollyon taps one of his claws against the side of his chair, “don’t want to play then?”

“I want Brian back, start the game – or whatever it is.”

He jumps as a chest appears before him. It creaks as it opens, inside are five different vials of that same blue liquid. So close together the glow is nearly blinding. John reaches out his hand but a shock jolts through his fingers. John shakes it out and looks up at Apollyon.

“You can pick only one.”

Paper flutters into his hand and he looks down. The text is written in scratchy print, he squints as he struggles to read it.

_Near the end, he’ll be_

_But an essence of death has two of these_

_One for you and one for him_

_Between the one gives you strength_

_And the last brings you nothing_

_He is next to death_

_Which vial is your starlight?_

John reads through the note a few more times before glancing back at the trunk. He tilts his head and sucks on his bottom lip. So one of these is Brian, now all he has to do is figure out which one it is.

For a moment he watches the vials trying to see if there are any differences in the pattern. They all move in the same way, as though they’re lava lamps. John closes his eyes, but he can’t feel a stronger connection to one than another. He opens his eyes again and reads through the riddle again.

If Brian is near the end, then number three is out. He stops himself and makes sure that he labels the vials from left to right _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. _So the death vials must either be two, four, or five if they must have things between them. John lifts his hand and starts to work on a loose piece of skin on this thumb with his teeth.

One of the death vials _must_ be two, which means that Brian is either one or four.

“Figuring it out Spriggan Boy?” Apollyon chuckles.

“I’m sure he is, brother!”

John jumps at the booming voice of Çor. Apollyon turns in his chair, narrowing his eyes at John before baring his fangs.

“Dishonesty! I had more faith in you!” 

Apollyon waves his hand and the chest starts to vanish. John leaps forward, grabbing one of the two vials that he thinks could be Brian, praying to whoever will hear him, that he grabs the right one. The chest vanishes and John scraps across the ground, cradling the vial to his chest. It feels warm, and he watches the liquid spin around each other before forming a solid point. It looks like a five-petal flower. The vial grows brighter, and he hears Apollyon curse.

John presses the vial into his chest, ignoring the burn in his lungs as he rolls to his feet. He can feel the brightness in the vial, and somehow, he knows that he has the right vial. Brian’s soul is literally in his hands. Apollyon turns toward him, and John takes a step back.

Çor appears between them with that hissing laughter, “don’t you have more to worry about than two humans, brother?”

“You turn all you touch to lies!” Apollyon shouts, “you made him think that he could not beat me on his own!”

His body trembles under the aura of power and he looks at the vial before looking back at the two warring princes of hell. How could he have been so foolish as to doubt himself? Had he gotten into bed with another demon for no reason?

When Çor leaps towards Apollyon John takes a deep breath and tries to focus on his own magical essence. It is faint and he can’t quite lock onto it. He runs his hand down the side of Brian’s vial – which he doesn’t want to think too hard about what he is holding – and looks towards the gate.

Apollyon flings Çor to the ground and debris smacks against John. He turns so that his back is battered more than his front, protecting the vial with his entire body. John will not allow anything to happen to his, even if he must send it through to the mortal plane himself. An unearthly growl breaks the stillness of the air, followed quickly by the flapping of wings. He twists back around to see Çor spring skyward with large wings, dark ash trails after him.

John fumbles for his pocket watch, the hour hand is now on the one. Hadn’t it just been at three? Does time not work the same here? He drops the watch back into his pocket, turning around to watch the battle. Sparks are flying between their fingertips and their horns are locked together.

His magic flares to life in his mind. He screams as it burns through his veins, and he understands now the fate that Çor was keeping him from, but now he can feel the solid core of his magic near the gate.

“I’ve got you, Songbird,” he whispers.

John lets himself fall forward as he hears the wind sharpen behind him. The hard ground bites into his knees and once more the air his choking him. He looks behind him and his gaze is filled with the yellow and hazy clouds that greeted him when he first stepped on this plane.

The portal shimmers into the clearing, and John rolls his shoulders before readjusting his grip to hold Brian more firmly. He leaps through the portal, and this time instead of falling through red, he is rising through it. It digs into his lungs and tries to pull the vial from his hands, but he holds fast.

Once more the landing rattles his chest, but whatever magic holds hell together no longer is bound to him. His ribs, which had taken more of a beating than it should in a lifetime, creaks and finally he feels it dig into his lung. The air leaves him in a wheeze, and he scratches weakly at his throat.

“John! By the gods! John!” Veronica screeches.

He feels himself get rolled over, and the air leaves his chest in a delicate _hhheeeh. _Veronica smacks lightly at his face, but John can only focus on holding the vial tight. His eyes open and he looks down, only to see that the vial is illuminating the clearing in a brilliant blue. John sighs in relief when the slapping stops and he can close his eyes.

“That’s a human soul,” Veronica whispers, “_please _tell me that’s the human soul you were after.”

John hopes that his quiet breath is enough to confirm Veronica’s statement.

“Oh, there’s not a healer for kilometers – your Roger will be in no shape – even if it has been a day here!”

He perks up at Roger’s name.

“No, he isn’t here, my dear,” Veronica’s lips are near his cheeks, “hang on John.”

John does. He tightens his grip on Brian’s soul before letting his mind fall to the siren song of sleep.f

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, leave your thoughts below or come talk to me on tumblr!!


	14. When the cards are read, will you listen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayye, sorry for the late update. College is mean to me.  
And I had to help a friend move.  
Shout out to Blanket Goblin for her help on working out some of the finer parts of the chapter!  
I won't keep you any longer, enjoy!!

Roger is fifteen. He doesn’t know why he is stuck on that thought. Maybe because today he has built up enough courage to finally ask his deck about his future relationship.

The date is July 19th.

It feels important.

He will be sixteen in a few days. Besides, he has just cleansed his deck, which hopefully means that it will be friendly and truthful to him.

His mother and Clare are away, which means their spell room should be empty. Once he confirms that it is, he slips inside and shuts the door. Roger turns around and skims his thumb over the locking sigil, wincing as it cuts into his thumb. It emanates a dull white light.

He pulls his cloth out from underneath a box containing dried elderberries. Roger flicks it out, wincing at the dust that sparkles in the sunlight. It probably won’t make his deck too temperamental, but he doesn’t want to use someone else’s cloth. He spreads it out on the table and strokes the constellation of Cancer.

Someone passes by the door which causes him to hesitate, but when they don’t jostle the doorknob he relaxes. Roger pulls his deck out of the leather pouch that has been resting against his hip the entire day and rests the cards on the cloth for a moment. He shakes his hands, trying to ease out the nervousness in them.

Then he starts to shuffle. It is strange that he can’t think of a specific question, and he hopes that it doesn’t ruin his spread too much. At the same time, he wants the most general view of his future that one could have. He is careful to keep all of the cards in the deck as he shuffles them.

Once more he sets them down to pull out the placement map. Clare would make fun of him for not knowing such a basic spread. His calling has always been potions and medicinal spells. Today he just wants to know if there’s any growth he should do before meeting his destined one.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “don’t let me down.”

The first three cards are about him, and they’re not really a surprise – drawing the Sun first is, he supposes. Roger bites his lip as he draws the fourth. His partner is looking for a united love, something Roger is more than happy to strive for as well. He frowns when he draws the Eight of Cups followed by Temperance, reversed.

_Interesting. _

His eighth card makes him grin, his partner will see him as a place of relaxation.

Roger nearly drops the next card. Three of Swords reversed. He doesn’t remember this card’s meaning off the top of his head, but he thinks it might have something to do with negativity in regard to self.

Thankfully the next two cards are a little happier.

“What…” Roger tilts his head, card number twelve isn’t something he would want to see in a relationship spread at all. The Devil’s face mocks him. If it weren’t going to upset the deck, he would place it face down.

Then he reminds himself he must look at the spread entirely before fretting over the specific meanings of single cards. Thirteen is a basic card but then number fourteen is the Four of Swords reversed. He grimaces. The sword suit is rarely friendly, and its been even less friendly to him in the past.

All that remains is figuring out if this relationship is feasible: Ten of Wands a test of faith but with a likely positive outcome. Roger tilts his head. His partner must be going through a hard time right now, but since all the cards _aren’t _negative then they must see a light at the end of the tunnel.

Hopefully. He stares at the Devil card.

John is sitting across from him. His family’s spell room is gone, replaced with thick and gnarly trees. In the darkness, the bark looks black. John sits on a throne of twisted roots and a crown of bramble on his head.

Behind John, the Devil card stares at him.

The grove lightens in firefly yellow, but it is still impossibly dark. John watches him with a perfectly arched eyebrow. His eyes are a shifting shade of moonlight silver and deep forest green. Roger blinks. One eye is silver, and one eye is green. John’s bramble crown grows spikier.

Roger spins around. He is holding the Devil card now. A second card is behind it, the Tower. He looks down, but when he looks up, he is standing in front of a large church. His feet move automatically, as though he is compelled to enter the church.

He looks around. It looks like a funeral. There are people dressed in black and wearing mourning veils. It is a non-witch funeral; he can sense the only protection here being from the priest’s accidental wards. He hears the bell ring seven times.

Someone pushes past him, making the scene wave. He watches it through a fog. Roger blinks and he is standing next to the end of a pew. Slowly, he turns his head and spots a dark head of curls. The woman is posh and pretty, but the boy next to her is what draws his attention.

The curls are looser, and the face is fuller with the gentle baby fat of childhood. Roger knows that face. It is Brian, maybe no older than ten. He sees how Brian jitters with energy and cannot properly funnel it.

He sticks his tongue out.

_“Brian Harold.”_

Brian stills, “sorry mama.”

Brian’s eyes unfocus. Roger knows that look. He turns around and sees a shadow. It quickly morphs into the demon from That Night.

The demon charges at him. Roger jumps in front of its path.

He is back in his uncle’s clinic. He thinks it might be Freddie’s room, but Freddie isn’t there. Roger spins on his heel to rush out of the room only to find that it is completely closed off. There is no door or window. Only the Devil card.

Roger fights with the covers. They’re sticking to him from sweat. He pushes them off him and onto the floor while trying to get his breathing under control. Next to him, he feels a body, and hesitantly he opens his eyes. It is Brian. Still in the same position that he was when they fell asleep. Bile rises in his throat, Brian may not be the most mobile of sleepers but he moves, usually trying to twist away from the horrors in his mind.

He carefully slips off the bed, but his knees buckle, and he stumbles to the ground. Now he realizes that his body feels as though it is moving two seconds behind when he thinks it. His limbs feel heavy and his head is clouded.

Almost like a hangover, but he knows that he hadn’t drunk anything last night. As much as he wanted to forget what happened, he had been too worried about his partners.

Roger smacks his lips. There is a strange bitter note in his mouth. It reminds him of the medicine that his mother used to give him when he was sick but wouldn’t slow down any to recover. He rubs his throat and glances around the room.

Vaguely he remembers John hanging around… maybe he had gone back to check on Freddie once Roger fell asleep? Roger pushes himself up, his legs are shaking with the effort and he notices how dry his mouth feels. He probably should get a glass of water.

Roger looks back at Brian and closes his eyes. Dwelling on Brian’s fate is not something he should do right now, lest he gets paralyzed from the grief. He looks around the room and notices the droopiness of the plant. It had been healthy yesterday, he is certain.

He stumbles his way over to it and examines it. There is a touch of John’s magic to it, but he doesn’t know why John would use magic on it. Roger frowns. Then shakes his head, it might be something as simple as John brushing against it. Roger exhales struggling to keep his eyes away from Brian.

He sees the two cups on the counter. John didn’t clean up, then. Roger bites his cheek. It is rare for John to leave a mess. His cup is empty… hadn’t the tiredness had washed over him before he could finish it? Why had John left empty cups? John doesn’t even drink more than one cup of coffee. He usually switches over to tea.

A pit settles in his stomach.

He lifts his mug and swipes it along the rim. There is a graininess to the coffee. When he sniffs it, it doesn’t smell unusual, but the residue is much thicker than it should be. It couldn’t have been…

Roger sets the mug down roughly. It dips over and rolls onto the floor before shattering. He curses – he loved that mug – but ignores it in favor of grabbing the mug that John drank from. The residue is less viscous and when he touches it, there isn’t any grain to it.

_That bastard!_

He leaves the mess on the floor and storms towards Freddie’s room. John couldn’t have! He wouldn’t! Roger pushes the door open, only to see Freddie sitting up in bed sipping at a cup of tea.

“Roger, darling,” Freddie smiles.

His face turns serious, “what’s happened?”

“Where is John?” Roger asks.

He takes a breath and tries to calm himself down.

Freddie twists with a grimace to set his tea on the nightstand, “I thought he was with you?”

Roger shakes his head and takes another deep breath. He feels his hands start to tremble.

“No.”

Freddie frowns, “where has he gone?”

Roger bites his cheek, holding back his accusation. He doesn’t know what John had done, and he doesn’t know that it was done out of anything but an ill-conceived plan of care.

“I don’t know,” Roger says, “what time is it?”

“Half eleven.”

“In the morning?”

“Night, dear one.”

He stares.

“You slept through the day,” Freddie replies, his voice has a questioning lilt to it.

Roger shakes his head. Even at his most exhausted he never sleeps more than nine and a half hours. It sounds like he has been out for over twelve. He steps away from Freddie, his mouth falling open.

“And we don’t know where John is?” He says quietly.

“No.”

“I’m gonna – I’ll be –“ Roger takes off out of the room.

The clinic is a small, family-owned, and thankfully not at all like the hospitals in London proper. It still has enough small rooms that are closer to closets for someone like John to squeeze into. Roger hopes that’s all this is. A rare case of true exhaustion and John being overwhelmed and needed to feel small. He rushes through the clinic, his head dizzy with the rush of speed. Each door is flung open, and a few cause damage to the paint.

Still no John.

He runs into his uncle. Roger shakes the arms from his shoulders violently. His uncle frowns and raises his hands again, but Roger steps back, stumbling over his own feet.

“Roger?”

“Have you seen John?”

His uncle raises an eyebrow, “not since last night. He was making coffee and took one to you.”

Roger grits his teeth.

“Where is Clare?”

His sister should know, she seems to know everything when it comes to his love life.

“She went out with friends this morning. It isn’t good for her to be around such negative energy.”

His uncle inclines his head towards where Roger would know Brian’s room to be. He isn’t surprised. There isn’t a guarantee that whatever has Brian’s soul wouldn’t come back for another one. Roger sighs, he doesn’t want to put his sister – his coven’s future matriarch – in danger.

“I told her to be back early tomorrow,” his uncle continues, “around breakfast. Your mother and Mrs. Bulsara are coming. Mrs. Deacon as well.”

Roger snorts. Maybe John’s mom would know where he ran off to or maybe John would come back with his tail tucked between his legs because of his mother. He has half a mind to not let John back in the clinic at all.

But then he wouldn’t get his chance to confront him.

“Right… well…” Roger bites his cheek again, it feels torn up, “if you see John mind sending him to Freddie’s room?”

“Of course,”

He turns on his heel and rushes to the safety of Freddie’s room. His skin is crawling, pinpricks of nervous energy that feel like bugs. Roger doesn’t want to be out in the open, but he also doesn’t want to be alone.

By the time he stumbles back into Freddie’s room his breathing is coming in rapid gasps. The dizziness he felt earlier knocks him against the wall where he slides to the ground. He digs his nails into the back of his neck and tries to remember how to breathe. _How much air do you pull in normally? How long do you hold it in?_

He shakes.

_Is this what Brian felt like every time he saw that damn shadow?_

“Roggie.”

Freddie’s voice breaks through the waves of panic. Roger looks up, and even though Freddie is only a few centimeters away, he is blurry. It takes Freddie’s thumb swiping under his eyes for him to realize that he is crying. Or maybe it is tears from struggling to breathe. He doesn’t know.

“Roger,” Freddie’s voice is sharper.

His hand wraps around his arms and Roger focuses on that. He senses the unease in Freddie’s magic, but also a strong inner calmness. Roger grabs that. He wraps it around himself and gradually his breathing evens out. It becomes automatic and he can feel the shakiness die.

“There we are, dearest,” Freddie says softly.

Roger shakes his head. Freddie shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.

“No, none of that.”

Huh. He must have spoken aloud.

“You did.”

Roger keeps his lips together, but his nose is so runny that he can’t currently breathe through it, so his jaw opens. Thankfully without any more innermost thoughts.

Finally, the world feels less spinny.

Freddie hums, “there it is.”

He shakes his head.

“Roger, you know I’m going to ask,” Freddie says, “I have a feeling I could guess what it is… but what brought that on, love?”

Roger snorts, “were you going to guess that John dropped a sleeping draught in my coffee and then ran off to fuck knows where?”

Freddie stares and then blinks twice.

“John… did that?”

“Couldn’t be anyone else. Coffee was grainy and thick, his wasn’t. The plant looked dead but had some of John’s magic to it so he probably poisoned it too.”

“Poison is a bit of a strong word…”

“And now no one knows where he is at!”

Freddie grips his hands. Roger focuses on the squeezing sensation allowing himself to calm slightly.

“He probably gave it to you because you were worrying yourself to death,” Freddie says.

“Then why run off?”

“You know how he gets about loss,” Freddie strokes down the side of his head, “I’m sure all of this reminds him too much of his father’s death.”

Roger shakes his head, “and what about us?”

Freddie shifts a little, his knees going down to the tile, “Roger may I hug you?”

“Suppose so.”

“It’s a yes or no.”

He narrows his eyes, “yes.”

Freddie brings him into a hug. Roger’s nose gets smushed as he presses it into Freddie’s pectoral (oh take that Brian, he did pay – Roger stops and nuzzles into Freddie at the thought of Brian. He squirms as best he can into the singer’s lap. He doesn’t want to cry again; his eyes feel awful as is.

“Hush, my love.”

He wants Brian and he wants John. He wants everything to back to the way it was before this; when it was just nightmares and they were trying to become famous. Roger reaches up to his ear, thumbing the stiff cartilage there, where he used to wear an earring. He doesn’t know that an old luck charm can do much here, but all they need is an inch of luck and he will make sure they gain a mile.

* * *

Freddie is playing with the ends of his hair, “don’t cut this.”

Roger hums, “honestly that’s the last thing I’m worried about.”

He knows Freddie is trying to take his mind off the fact that they still have no idea where John has gone, and it is approaching twenty-four hours of them having no clue where he _could_ have gone. Also, they’ve intubated Brian.

Roger bites his tongue.

“Oh, dear, they always say –“

“Freddie. A shower isn’t going to fix _this,” _he pauses, “any of this.”

Freddie clicks his tongue, “no need to get short with me.”

Roger scowls.

“We’re all we have right now. Until John gets back.”

He pulls his knees up to his chest, “we have to keep Brian alive until John gets back.”

Freddie grimaces, “it may not be as bleak as you think.”

Roger stares at him, “how?”

“Do you have a deck of tarot cards?”

Roger wants to say no. The last time he used the cards, his reading hadn’t been the friendliest. They’ve been shoved in his closet since. Not to mention the dream with the Devil card. He shivers.

“I do,” Roger says quietly, “or I think there is one around here.”

Freddie rubs up his back, “do you want to do a reading?”

Roger shakes his head but then pauses, “can’t make things worse.”

“Roggie,” Freddie pouts, “don’t go into a reading with such negative energy.”

He looks at Freddie.

“About the reading,” Freddie amends.

Roger lets out a long sigh before sliding out of the bed. He pulls on one of the jackets that his Uncle had dropped off. Freddie smiles gently as he shuffles out of the room. The hoodie is soft, and it is one that Brian would enjoy. _No, _he shakes his head. Getting lost in his grief now won’t help anyone. If he does, then he won’t be able to make the calls that he needs to.

He hurries to the storage room, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets and picking at the fuzz. Roger’s limbs feel sluggish and heavy. Perhaps that it was John’s ill brewed sleeping draught that hasn’t left his system yet. Any anger he feels at John is muffled by waves of grief and the overwhelmingly impossible choice that he already knows the outcome of.

A few plants curl towards him as he enters, but he moves towards the spell object. There are a few loose crystals and stones that roll around as he jostles a box. Roger reaches up and grabs a hardened leather pouch. The leather is dry-rotted and some of the stitches are pulling apart. He tilts out the heavy cards. They’re older and the corners have been nibbled on, likely by mice.

Maybe he should cleanse these first.

Roger reaches up to the shelf above to pull a canvas pouch. He opens it up to see the black salt. Roger pinches it and rolls it between his fingers. The lingering cleansing power should be enough. There is a silk cloth in one of the gemstone boxes, which he pulls out and wraps the cards in it before heading towards the sunlight. He opens it up and sprinkles the salt around it and lifts the deck up and spreads it below. Roger sprinkles it on top before closes it.

He closes his hands over it and sends tiny pulses of purifying energy through it. Whatever energy that the cards had is slowly being pushed out and into the salt. Roger leans against the wall at the unsteady turn in his stomach. His magical energy must be still too low for anything intense.

How the hell is John able to be missing? Roger shakes his head. It doesn’t matter, even if he is worried that John is harmed somewhere. John could have passed out and then no one knows where he is at. Maybe someone has already – no Roger shakes his head harder the ground spins and he has to press a hand against his mouth to keep from vomiting.

The cards are as cleansed as he can safely get them. He might pass out if he keeps trying to stretch his magical muscles and he is tired of forced unconsciousness already. Roger holds them tightly as he hurries out of the storeroom. When he exits he feels a gust of cold air tickle up his spine and he turns around.

Nothing is there, but the window is cracked slightly. Roger grimaces and moves to shut it. No use in inviting spirits to the clinic – even if they aren’t harmful they’ll hinder healing. Once the window is secure the latch reopens and it flings itself up. He jumps, losing his footing from where he was perched on his toes. The cards scatter around him, and the concrete scrapes his palm.

He looks around to see if anything had gotten it. There is nothing blocking the hinges that would keep it from staying closed. Roger stares, more importantly, it had been latched. There is no malevolent energy that he can feel, but there is no benevolent energy either. The door to the storeroom is wide open too, he curses his carelessness. At least there are wards that would keep it in here.

“Fuckin’ spirits,” he murmurs.

His hands sting but he quickly picks up the cards, careful to not bend any of the fragile edges and he replaces them in the silk. Well, now he doesn’t have to worry about cleaning the black salt off them. Truthfully he should cleanse them again – or maybe cleansing them had been what invoked the spirit in the first place. He brushes the dirt from his bum before hurrying out of the storeroom.

Roger ignites the ward in the futile hope that it keeps the spirit in the room. It should at least keep any more spirits from getting in through the open door. He walks briskly through the hallways, The clinic is unsettling in the night, he never knows what is around the corner.

Roger stops in front of Brian’s room. The hiss of the vent seems to bounce around the walls before stabbing into his chest. He looks at Brian, there are IV lines poking into his hands – which for once aren’t jittering or forming imaginary cords, and he has plastic over his mouth where the vent has been placed pulling in air to keep his body breathing.

Rage fills him. Brian should look alive, he should be playing music and exploring his magical heritage. He should be asking hundreds of questions and figuring out how things word. Roger tightens his hold on the tarot cards, his rage building the longer he stares at Brian.

It is only knowing that this is the last bit of Brian that keeps him from storming in there and tearing the tubs from him. Roger _can’t _kill Brian. He doesn’t know how he is supposed to let him _die. _There is also no point in keeping a body that has no soul.

They’ll have to explain it to his parents. Roger leans against the doorway, watching the mechanical rise of Brian’s chest and drowning in the hissing of the room. What is the kinder fate – his soul being stolen from powers beyond their ability or an inexplicable death? Ruth and Harold are going to have live with knowing their son apparently went to sleep one night and didn’t wake up. Didn’t come back.

There is no reason for that end. The Mays will have no one to blame and they can only curse the world. Roger at least has a target for his anger. He knows why Brian slipped away.

Although, he supposes the end is the same. Roger will have to live with a hole in his galaxy that is Brian shaped for the rest of his life. He gets to live with lingering dreams of growing old and playing stadiums and touring the world. Maybe they still will, but it won’t feel the same.

Roger closes his eyes as he pictures the half-finished amp Deaky kept in his room. Brian had already played with the first version of it, but this one is built – or was being built – for Red specifically. He wonderings what sound Brian could have teased from it.

He wonders what they’re going to do with Red now. Do they give it back to Harold, maybe to be destroyed in the embers of grief? Do they keep it as a tribute to what-could-have-beens and their failures?

Brian’s body gives him no answer but the hissing of the vent.

Roger turns away, easing his grip on the tarot cards. He pushes from the frame and goes back to Freddie who smiles at him as he enters, but it quickly falls. Any light Freddie usually has in his eyes is dull. Freddie hasn’t had his chance to say good-bye to Brian yet.

“I thought you might have run away.”

“They’ve been in storage for gods know how long, thought I might as well cleanse them,” Roger shrugs.

He sets the parcel on the bed. Freddie takes them. Roger feels a tiny swell of magic and watches as it makes Freddie waver. He reaches up to steady the singer, and then shrugs climbing onto the bed, dragging the flimsy table over to them with his foot.

“Here we are,” Roger says.

“That should be big enough for the spread I have in mind.”

“Celtic?” Roger asks.

Freddie nods. Roger pulls a face. Freddie usually goes to Celtic when things are murky and even his vision is failing him. He doesn’t understand the pattern either, but Freddie spreads the silk with quick efficiency.

“Roggie, do you want to shuffle for me?”

He shrugs and reaches for the deck. He cuts it and flips it together with out-of-practice ease. One of the cards jumps from where he is pushing them together only to flutter to the bed with mocking innocence.

It isn’t the Devil at least.

Roger doesn’t know that the Tower is a much better read. Freddie looks at the card and then to him with a heavy frown.

“Roger! You said you cleansed them!”

“I did!” _They just got tainted right after._

“Well, then what did you do to them?”

“Don’t keep it, it’s a jumper anyway,” Roger scowls, “they don’t mean anything.”

Freddie returns the glare, “don’t keep the jumper he says – any message of the cards is important to bear in mind! Give them here.”

Roger lifts his hands skyward in mock surrender. Freddie shuffles the cards as well, not touching the tower. He has half a mind to toss the card to the ground, but he doesn’t want to make Freddie any madder at him for insulting the cards or whatever it is that he has apparently done to them. All that happened was they fell on the ground!

Freddie sets the deck to the side and lets out a tiny breath before pulling the first one. The card isn’t immediately clear to him, but he can tell that it’s reversed. Freddie sets it in the middle of the tiny table.

“Signifier?” Roger asks quietly.

“High priestess,” Freddie replies, “this read must be about Brian.”

He doesn’t know how Freddie can get Brian from that, but he doesn’t argue with him. The second card is placed on top of the signifier. It is reversed and from the sword suit. Roger wrinkles his nose.

“Well, this one certainly isn’t holding back at all,” Freddie hums.

Roger scoots a little closer to Freddie, near enough that he can rest his head on his shoulder and watch as Freddie pulls each card and sets it in the perfect spot. He is sure this is how all readings are meant to look. When he thinks back to his former ones, all he sees are how they’re haphazardly placed and skewed – they’re in the right order but there is no respect to the deck. No wonder they hate him.

Or that is what Freddie always told him the problem was.

The rest of the order is as such: Hermit. Ten of Wands also reversed. Five of Cups. Five of Swords. Hanged Man (reversed). Eight of Cups. Two of Pentacles. Nine of Wands. Queen of Pentacles.

“She’s a blunt deck,” Freddie tilts his head, thumbing gently over the Queen of Pentacles, “but there is hope.”

Roger snorts. He doesn’t mean to and Freddie gives him a disappointed look.

“Hope for what?” Roger spits.

“Our future?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Roger…”

“Our future?” Roger flings himself out of the bed, ignoring how the room starts spinning, “our _future _is burying Brian. _Our _future is you choosing me or John!”

Freddie stares open-mouthed, “do you mean that?”

He shakes his head. Roger hadn’t thought about voicing his dread out loud, but now that it has become the gauntlet, he can’t see another outcome. At least not right now – with the information he has. Roger shakes his head, he either has to stick to this or not. Being wishy-washy will hurt him.

It killed Brian.

“Freddie,” Roger says slowly, “John and I, we haven’t been on the same page for months now – and now! He goes behind our backs… we don’t know where he is or what he is doing. Brian is dead, and he is nowhere to be found. He _drugged _me, Freddie!”

Freddie closes his mouth.

“I don’t know – unless – I don’t know.”

Roger leans against the wall. He wants to give his brain a frame of upright because now the room is pitching wildly. His heart is hammering its way through his chest.

“I don’t know how much I trust him.”

“And you’ll throw away everything we have now? When we have bonded with him?”

He bites down on his lip, “I can’t change the past – but I won’t let John have my heart now.”

Freddie shakes his head, “fracturing now is exactly the opposite of what we should be doing.”

“Tell that to John,” Roger growls, “he is the one forcing it.”

“John must have his reasons.”

“If they’re compelling enough I’ll listen, but Freddie – how can I trust him again?”

“Surely he’ll explain himself. Roger, you needed the sleep…”

Roger shakes his head, “no, Freddie, you aren’t getting it. John has broken the trust I had with him. That’s what a relationship needs.”

Freddie looks down at the tarot cards, “we can regrow our relationship. It will work, we’ll accomplish our dreams and live happily. We only have to give it care.”

“Freddie you can’t just change the subject!”

“And you can’t force me to choose at this moment!” Freddie nearly yells back.

It makes Roger take a step back – or it would if his back isn’t already pressed to the wall. He opens his mouth to retort but finds that his voice is stolen from him. Freddie – he had assumed that Freddie would be on his side. Agree with him that John’s actions were inexcusable. But he sees now that it had only been him and John at each other’s throat. Roger doesn’t know if they can break their line of the triangle but both love Freddie.

He won’t love any others, and he knows that with John’s gift it is likely impossible.

Roger pushes away from the wall, anger bubbles in him again. He doesn’t get how Freddie doesn’t see that no matter the reason John had broken their trust – his trust. If he did it once he could do it again.

Greif crashes over him again as it occurs to him that this must be how Brian felt every time, they took the choice away from him to protect him. Roger falls to the ground.

“Roggie?”

He looks down. Apparently, a card had stuck to the sleeve of his jumper. The corner getting caught on a fraying edge.

It is the Devil.

* * *

Roger hides out in Brian’s room the moment he hears the front door open early the next morning. Freddie doesn’t want to talk to him at the moment because of what he said earlier. He doesn’t know that it was said in the heat of the moment either. Whatever John has done, it’s broken something, and maybe it can be repaired but he doesn’t want to try for some time yet.

Maybe once Brian is cold and in the ground.

He also hasn’t slept since he woke up. The dizziness is growing worse, and he imagines that John somehow brewed the draught wrong and it has lingering side-effects. Roger hasn’t spoken with his uncle yet, because he can still stay upright.

There is a gentle knock at the door. Roger flicks his eyes up to see Lillian Deacon standing at the door. She looks very close to her son; she has a more delicate facial structure her cheekbones high and a perfectly sloped nose. Figures that John would get none of his mother’s elegance but all of her looks.

“Roger,” Lillian says.

Roger offers a polite smile, but he knows that it falls short. Lillian doesn’t seem to mind as she steps into the room. He stands, unsure of how close he wants her to Brian’s form.

“Sorry,” she says, “so this is what he grew up to look like.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh,” Lillian hums, “I met him before when he was just a child. A spirit knocked him out cold, but I don’t think he had awakened his gift.”

Roger stares.

“Such a shame. He seemed like he could have been such a vibrant blessing to this world.”

He smiles faintly, “Brimi… Brimi was the best. He was so kind and loved animals – he could get a temper, but he felt so bad about it after.”

“Past tense?”

Roger swallows, “there – his soul.”

Lillian releases a started gasp but then gives an understanding sigh.

“It’s no wonder, John’s taken off as he has.”

He barely manages to stop his scowl.

“His father died in such a similar way. I never understood why John blamed himself, and of course, Julie had been so ill then.”

Roger’s anger lessens slightly at John. He supposes if he had any care for his father and he had passed the same way his lover was then maybe he would want to escape it too.

“Don’t be too hard on him when he comes back?” Lillian says softly.

“That’s not the thing I’m upset about,” Roger replies.

He reaches out to grab Brian’s hand.

* * *

It is strange to watch someone waste away. Brian’s cheeks sink in further and further. Roger imagines that it happens every time he works up the courage to look at Brian again. He holds onto Brian’s hand, stroking along the tendons in his hands. They’ve gained a rigidity to them but at the same time, it almost feels like they’ve gotten smaller.

Losing muscle mass that fast shouldn’t be possible, but Roger isn’t certain. Brian has gone from spending hours a day playing his guitar to not touching it at all. He frowns.

When is the last time he saw Brian playing Red? He saw her after their flat had been broken into… but after that. Roger shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry, Birdie,” Roger whispers, “we should have been more prepared. Watchful.”

“Roger!”

He looks up to see his mother standing in the doorway. She looks as prim and proper as ever, but her usually well-maintained hair is hanging loosely on her shoulders and for once she has forsaken her makeup.

“Jer’s gone to see Freddie,” Winnifred says.

Right. Freddie still hasn’t seen Brian. They should probably let him into the room sometime today. Roger turns his gaze to Brian, watching as his chest mechanically lifts and deflates.

“How are you, my boy?” Winnifred carefully lifts his head once she stands in front of him.

Roger lets her guide his head before standing up and tugging her into a hug. He breathes in her scent – cinnamon and honey like she puts in her morning tea. It smells like home and he buries his face in her shoulder. She coos and rubs his back, letting them sway slightly.

“I know,” she says softly, “it is okay.”

He never cries in front of his mother or his sister. Michael had made sure that habit was firmly engrained in him with sharp words and near-misses of bottles, but this time he can’t stop the trembling and the tiny bark of a sob that leaves his throat.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says.

His voice is muffled by her jacket, but she holds him tighter and he thinks that she understands what he was saying.

“That’s okay, my boy.”

Roger shakes his head.

“Things have a funny way of working out,” Winnifred says.

He lifts his head from her shoulder to stare at her. She swipes under his eye, her bright red nails glistening in the fluorescent light. It makes him relax. His mother hasn’t changed, she is concerned but she isn’t freaking out.

“Now, my lovely boy, let’s tell your mother what’s happened…”

Roger wants to shake his head, but it is ignored as his mother sits in the chair, leaning her legs to the side and pushing down on the ruffled fabric of her skirt. He sits next to her, leaning his head on her thigh. Not looking at her is easier, and he finds the words tumbling from his throat. From what happened to Brian to John’s betrayal, he doesn’t linger on the sleeping draught, but he can feel his mother’s hand stroking his head.

“I agree, you should talk to him,” Winnifred says, “but don’t feel obligated to forgive him. I did that with your father for far too long.”

“I don’t want to think about him – my father that is.”

Winnifred hums, “I agree.”

His uncle knocks on the door, “Winnie, how are you?”

“I’m doing well now that I see Roger is as fine as he can be.”

“Of course,” his uncle nods, sparing him a supportive smile, “do you mind speaking with me for a few moments? Rog, I think Freddie wants to see Brian, and I think Jer needs help.”

“Yeah,” Roger rises to his feet.

Something is prickling at the back of his head. He steps with purpose, but once he turns the corner, he leans against the wall. Eavesdropping is not something he is proud of but it has served him well in the past.

“I don’t want to add any more stress to you – but Clare hasn’t come back.”

“Clare? Where did she go?”

“She told me she was going to stay with friends. I told her to be back by the time you started arriving, but well.”

Roger bites his lip to keep a curse from slipping out. Now his sister is missing?

“I’ll have someone start scrying for her, no use in spreading ourselves thin, especially if the risk of Tullia is as great as they say.”

“And is the council doing anything about this?”

Winnifred gives a bitter snort that is almost identical to the one that Roger gives, “they’re lost in the bureaucracy of it. Then, of course, they have to deal with the fall out of the confirmation about the May clan’s fall.”

His uncle groans, “so we stay on our guard for the next however long?”

“I don’t think they’re going to make a move so bold,” Winnifred says, “they aren’t going to invoke the wrath of our covens anymore than they have. The May boy – Brian right? There isn’t any point but to serve as a reminder of what they can do.”

“How is Roger?” His uncle asks.

Roger pushes away from the wall and moves towards Freddie’s room. He doesn’t need to hear how other people think that he is handling it. They tell it to his face often enough as it is right now.

“Hello, Jer,” he greets quietly.

Jer pulls him into a hug and kisses both of his cheeks, before holding him at arm’s length.

“Hello, Roger. I had hoped to see you and my son more, but I hoped that it would be under better circumstances.”

He quirks his lips to show that he appreciates the weak gesture of comfort and then turns to Freddie who sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs slowly. Freddie looks a little steadier than he did the last time that Roger saw him. The tarot cards are neatly stacked on the table which had been replaced on the floor. He looks away sheepishly.

“Roger, do come here.”

Roger steps over to him, and Freddie brings their foreheads together. He breathes in a tiny sigh of relief – an acceptance of an apology he isn’t quite brave enough to utter yet.

“Help me go see our Songbird?”

“You’re lucky we aren’t too different in height,” Roger quips as he pulls Freddie’s arm around his shoulder.

Before he lifts the singer, he stops, “are you okay to walk?”

“If I was, do you think I’d be trusting our skinny drummer boy to help me?”

Roger rolls his eyes dramatically. Jer smiles at them, moving to place a hand on Freddie’s back. They take tiny steps, he sees and feels how Freddie’s legs are still trembling to hold him up. He crouches lower to get more stability.

“Okay, let me know when you need a break.”

Freddie doesn’t stop him the entire way to Brian’s room. Winnifred is also joining them at the same time with a tray of tea. Roger nods in gratitude and then moves to get Freddie into the seat. He doesn’t pay much attention to where Freddie is looking, only that he is safely sitting down. When he does look up, he sees how Freddie’s eyes are trained on Brian’s face.

Roger blows a jumpy breath through his nose. Brian has moved his head so that it is turned to Freddie. He has to remind himself that Brian _can _still move – or that anything is able to move him because he has no resistance, but he rights Brian’s head so that his neck is straight to protect the airway.

“You look like a mess, Birdie,” Freddie whispers.

He faces the hovering mothers. Jer has her gaze on her son and Winnifred is looking at him. She leaves a cup of tea on the table near the door before lifting the tray and taking a step outside. Roger gestures to the door with his head, Jer catches on to the hint and steps out.

“Oh dear one,” Freddie mumbles.

Roger steps back to Freddie, to give his shoulder a comforting squeeze and a light kiss on the crown of his head.

“I’ll give you a bit of alone time?”

“Please,” Freddie says, but he rests his hand on top of the one Roger has on his shoulder.

He lingers until the hand slips from his and Freddie’s focus is fully on Brian. Roger gives him another kiss before letting Freddie have his time alone. They – he and Brian – have had enough over this past… he doesn’t know how many hours it has been all he knows is that it feels like he has been going nonstop for a month.

Winnifred hands him his cup of tea. Roger looks down at it and goes to lift it to his lips before his stomach tightens and he lowers it. He doesn’t want to waste it but he doesn’t think that he can drink it without getting himself sick.

Jer frowns but his mother leans against him, pushing her shoulder into his. Roger bends down to set the cup onto the ground before hiding himself in his mother’s chest. It feels like he is twelve again and his father is spitting at him while he throws together a duffle bag. He feels like he understands the situation just as much as he did back then. He feels fingers pinch at his neck followed by vibrations. The humming is quiet enough that it only is the sensation, but he knows that it is the same lullaby his mother used to sing Clare and him when they were little.

Roger doesn’t remember the lyrics, but he thinks that it had something to do with the monster under his bed not being able to harm him.

* * *

He is falling.

He is floating.

He is too cold.

He is too hot.

There is no up and there is no down. Things are bright but they are also dark. Flame bites at his feet, but his throat feels like he is breathing in the frozen air. Or he thinks that it is his throat.

His sense of self is gone.

Something shifts.

He is falling upward now. It is the first positive sensation he could tell.

Now he is floating down.

Air surrounds him and chokes him and he fights through the heat and the chill. He does not know what is happening.

There are snatches of faces. More colors. He can’t hear the voices through the waves crashing over him. He does know that he knows the voices.

Bright blue.

Warm brown.

Stormy gray.

Passionate.

Kind.

Steady.

He breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very, interesting.  
As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	15. What happens when you do not die?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a short chapter. I had to break it away from the other one because the tone was so wildly different.  
Yes, it took me a bit, but life?
> 
> As always, enjoy!

Brian sits cross-legged glancing around the space. It is an endless galaxy, stars glimmer above him, he is surrounded by brilliant purples and blue and forming a watercolor background. The sky reflects below him. He feels like he is in a dome but the space is endless.

Wisps of white flutter past him. He lifts his finger and one of them lands on his finger, the wisp solidifies into a butterfly. For a moment it lingers, then it flies away.

This time when he sets his hand down, he feels the water. It explains the reflection, but not the lack of light pollution. Unless he has gone to a space near a telescope.

But that doesn’t make sense. He was in London. Hadn’t left it.

Strangely he can’t call up any specifics of where he was. Fear. Heat. Confusion. Nothing permanent. Nothing tangible. He doesn’t know himself for all he knows his name is Brian May.

“Hullo?”

His voice skitters around like a stone bouncing down a stairway.

“Hullo?” He hears behind him.

Brian turns but he realizes that it had been his own greeting. He stands, his joints move easily.

“Hullo?” His question comes around softer.

When he steps forward, the wispy butterflies erupt from the water. He raises his hands to protect his face from the swarm. When they dissipate a structure appears in the distance. Brian tilts his head. A white-paneled home with a short fence and overgrown with wildflowers. Brian knows that home.

“You’re lost, boy!”

That is his father’s voice. He looks around. He is still alone. Brian begins to walk to the house.

“Brian!”

He pauses at the faint whisper. The butterflies fly ahead of him and lay down a path to the house. Each meter he leaves behind the butterflies fly away and then they evaporate high in the sky. He steps gently but quickly.

Meteors streak across the sky but do not cause a reflection. Brian frowns, he knows that it is odd, but does not know why. He keeps walking to the home.

“Foolish boy!”

Again, it is his father’s voice. Somehow, he feels that his father was never that cruel sounding. Brian walks. His ‘hullo’ still rotates around the space. Tiny splashes bounce from where he walks. The home grows brighter.

The butterfly lights grow dimmer. The home grows brighter.

He pauses at the gate.

This is a boundary he cannot cross yet.

“About time you visited your dear grandmother.”

Brian spins splashing water up his pants but they do not remain wet.

While the voice is hauntingly old, the face of the woman shows only fifty years of age. Dark curls are rolled into victory rolls and streaks of silver only add to her dignity. Her eyes are wide and slightly milky – her lovely green is faded. The bright red lips are what finally confirms who he is looking at.

He remembers grumpily rubbing the red stains from his cheeks.

“Don’t recognize your own grandmother?”

He can’t figure out why he is surprised. He is standing outside of her home after all.

“Has so much time passed already?”

“No? I know you.”

Brian tilts his head. The world is becoming less but at the same time, it’s becoming more. The water is shifting to a stone walkway and grass and the sky is starting to become a summer’s day.

His grandmother steps forward and pats his cheek. He frowns. She is warm.

“Silly boy.”

Brian frowns.

“Of course you know me, but for how long?”

Brian feels like he’s five years old again and getting lectured for eating the biscuit dough.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Your house?”

His grandmother’s skin takes on a healthy pink flush. Brian bites his cheek wondering why he hadn’t noticed how pale she was.

“Not quite,” his grandmother shakes her head, none of her curls fall out of place, “this is where I pulled you to, but it is not my house.”

Brian looks around. This looks exactly like the street his grandmother lived on before she – before what? Did she move? No. That isn’t right. Brian stares at his hands, wondering when his fingers had gotten so long.

“This is a place between.”

“Between what? Surrey and Devonshire?”

His grandmother rolls her eyes, “this isn’t the time for wit boy.”

Her eyes are very green.

She grabs his hand and pulls him away from the house, instead they sit on one of the benches.

“We’re in between, life and death. Hell and heaven. Good and evil. Magic and without.”

Brian shakes his head, “I don’t understand?”

His grandmother looks out to the street, smoothing out her lovely blue dress. It is stained with flour and her apron has berry stains. Brian focuses on her pearl pink nails, perfectly rounded and the heavy diamond she wore as a wedding ring. He remembers all of these things about his grandmother, but every time he looks up, her face is different. Sometimes she bears a startling resemblance to his mother, sometimes it is no one he knows.

It’s odd.

“I wish I had more time to teach you of this life,” she says sadly, “maybe you would have lived a long and loved life.”

“I’m dead?”

He asks it, but he feels the truth of the statement echo through his body.

“You’re trying,” she says.

He looks away and sees a black and white filter cover the side of the street. Brian looks back at her.

“Your boy – John is it – managed the impossible for an incredible price. The fault lies in the demons having known the world longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hell glass – the glass your soul resides in – starts to shatter after so long on the mortal plane.”

The sky opens, a rift like a geode. Brian doesn’t know what to focus on, there are so many images going past. The largest crystal shows a woman that he’s never seen before. She has a lovely face.

> _“John! You can’t!”_
> 
> _“I have to!”_
> 
> _“Your ribs have slipped once already!”_
> 
> _“You expect me to sit here after you tell me I’m losing him again!”_
> 
> _“We can’t do anything!”_

Brian looks to his grandmother, she is picking at her nails. He feels an attachment to this yelling John. Like he is being drawn to him. He wants to go to him. Brian has no idea who this is.

“More recent memories go first,” his grandmother says.

“What’s happening?”

“Your soul is evaporating,” his grandmother says, “it’s too far from your body and there is nothing to keep it from going.”

“Where does it go?”

“Away. Here. Nowhere.”

He looks away and back towards the geode. He can only assume they’re memories. A memory geode.

This time a blond man and one with silky dark hair appear in the largest crystal. They’re leaning against each other. Brian can see where they have been crying. Tears stain their cheeks with bright marks. In front of them looks to be a figure on the bed. He can’t see who it is on the bed.

They don’t have a face.

> _“John needs to say goodbye,” the one with the silky hair says._
> 
> _“He could have had his chance,” the blond growls._
> 
> _“Roggie.”_
> 
> _“NO! He ran off! He hasn’t been back!”_

The geode fades to black. Before another memory crops up. This time it’s back to the woman from before, but this time a man is in the picture. His brown hair is lanky with grease and he holds his arm to his chest tightly.

> _“We have to save him,” the voice is heavy with tears._
> 
> _“John. We can’t.”_
> 
> _“We have his soul.”_
> 
> _“What’s left of it! Who knows what an incomplete soul will do to him.”_
> 
> _“If he’s alive,” John replies, “it doesn’t matter.”_
> 
> _The woman clicks her tongue, “don’t you worry about how far you’re willing to go for him?”_
> 
> _John shakes his head._

The geode once again goes black and the images spin at a dizzying pace so he looks back to his grandmother.

“What is that? Who are they?”

“They are your most important people,” his grandmother replied, “they are those you love and love you.”

He looks back at the geode. This time the three men are together, and they pressed together.

> _“What are we going to about Brian?” Roggie says_
> 
> _“We can’t do anything,” the one with the silky hair replies, “we don’t know why he has nightmares. Maybe it isn’t magical.”_
> 
> _John scoffs, “it’s always magic.”_

The world around them pitches. Brian doubles over and covers his ears at the loud screeching noise. The geode fracture grows until the sky is covered in the crystal. The crystals are showing each of the boys is saying his name. It echoes around him. It pitches in volume until he sounds as though a jet engine is going off in his ear.

“John must hurry.”

He looks at his grandmother.

“Whatever horrors you had in hell –“

“Hell?”

His grandmother sighs sadly, “I could not save you from your fate. In fact, my meddling made it worse.”

Brian shakes his head. He presses his palms to his ears pressing hard enough that the shouting of his name is muffled by his ears ringing.

“John must hurry,” his grandmother repeats.

“Why?” Brian pants.

“A partial soul is better than no soul, wouldn’t you agree?”

Brian stares at her through the curtain of his curls. Her skin has lost the waxy texture and is now a moist one – as though she had sweat. The milkiness of her eyes has faded and now she watches him with the deep green-hazel that she had watched him with.

“Remember when you were, oh three or so? You were chasing after the hedgehogs that your grandfather was raising, but you got stuck in the brambles and we had to clean them with witch hazel?”

He remembers that day vaguely, “I was upset because I didn’t get to pet one.”

His grandmother nods, “your soul has always been soft. We struggled to keep it from getting molded by corruption.”

He looks at his grandmother. Brian doesn’t understand the point of this story.

“Which means that your soul doesn’t cling, it evaporates fast.”

The world shatters again. The color of the quiet street fades, and even the shades of white are darkening. He looks around and behind him, his grandmother’s house looks pristine.

“You can come home,” she says softly, “or linger and trust your lovers.”

Brian looks at the dark street and then back at the warm inviting house of his grandmother. He wants to go with her, but it feels final. Crossing the barrier, the barrier that he couldn’t cross earlier. Brian looks down at his hands and the spiraling geodes. It’s back on Roggie and the guy with the silky hair.

> _“We have to let him go,” Roggie says, “what’s the point of keeping him – he can’t even breathe on his own!”_
> 
> _The silky haired man strokes down Roger’s hair, “but John…”_
> 
> “_Screw John!” The blond stands up, tripping over the blanket around his legs, “he left! He – you know what he did to me!”_
> 
> _“Roger…”_
> 
> _“No! I can’t stand watching Brian like this for a moment more! I can’t say goodbye! I can’t see him like this!”_
> 
> _Roger falls to the ground the blanket pooling around his waist. He is biting down on his palm and his shoulders are shaking violently._
> 
> _“Roger please.”_
> 
> _“Don’t touch me, Freddie!”_
> 
> _“You’re hurting me,” Freddie tries again._
> 
> _“I’m hurting,” Roger hisses._
> 
> _As Roger doubles over, Freddie wraps around him. Roger’s cries pierce through the echoing of the chants of his name. Freddie soothes him with slow movements._
> 
> _“I just want him back,” Roger grabs Freddie’s shirt._
> 
> _Freddie starts crying too, “I know. I do too. Maybe… maybe John’s found a way.”_
> 
> _Roger shakes his head, “if he has it wasn’t – that isn’t – I don’t know what he’s done.”_
> 
> _“Then we don’t ask,” Freddie says._
> 
> _“If he’s done something dark – then – and that he’s tainted– Freddie.”_

The geode cracks and it starts raining tiny crystals over his body. Brian reaches his hand collects the powder that glimmers brightly in his palm. It looks like trapped stardust and he lets it tumble out of his palm onto his pants leg. He looks up and the sky is a crack. Like a spiderweb or a mirror that’s been broken.

Whatever was left of the color that was left in the street has vanished. The only color left on the street is from his grandmother’s house. He could go home. His grandmother is already walking towards the gate, looking over at him every few seconds.

“Are you coming, Birdie?”

He pauses.

Freddie, Roger, and John call him Birdie too.

“It’s time to stop your suffering.”

Brian shakes his head. He wasn’t suffering. The nightmares and hallucinations are things that he could survive. It was getting better. They were helping him.

Now they were suffering because he was… Not.

He doesn’t know what he was Not, but he knows that for some reason he isn’t. Brian shakes his head. Nothing is making sense.

Brian yearns for Roger’s contact and Freddie’s hugs and John’s tenderness even though he cannot recall what that feels like. He knows that he loved it. He loved it but he cannot be certain that he did because he does not remember it.

The ground grows darker.

“Brian. Birdie. End your suffering.”

“Birdie. Brian. Come back to us.”

His head hurts.

He feels his grandmother’s hands on him. Her rounded nails are digging into his shoulders. No. These are pointed now. Brian turns his head. He sees a large horned beast. Sharp fangs. Diamonds glitter bold and bright. They sway and mesmerize him. The claws dig in deeper.

”You’re mine boy.”

It sounds like his father.

His father is not this beast.

“Brian, end your suffering.”

He sees his grandmother coaxing him to the bed. The smell of warm biscuits hit his nose and his stomach groans and he realizes how hungry he is.

“She ate the pomegranate and she could not leave.”

The ringing is back. It bounces through his spine and tugs at his heart. The street is gone. It is only his grandmother’s house. The demon stares at him with his swaying diamonds and brilliant grin. There are no geodes. He wants to see his lovers but he cannot remember who they are.

He remembers the warmth. He remembers the warmth of love. Brian knows he had been loved. He doesn’t know why he had given it up.

He feels like he had entered this place willingly.

Had he?

No. He stopped at the gate. Why had he stopped?

His grandmother loves him. Is that the warmth he remembers? It must be. It is the only person here that he knows loves him.

The demon cannot love. The demon’s diamond sways and he falls into their spell. It spins out and looks like a spiderweb covered in dew. The background – the sky? There had been a sky! It is completely back only the diamond and his grandmother’s house and the smell of her biscuits.

Brian is cold.

Why his he cold?

He knew how to be warm. It had been with his lovers. Who had he loved?

His grandmother loved him.

No.

That doesn’t sound right.

Someone else had loved him.

The demon with his father’s voice. It isn’t his father but it is his father’s voice.

No.

He is afraid of that demon with his father’s voice.

What was he thinking about?

Brian looks around. There is no house. There is no demon. There is no grandmother. Everything is black.

That is wrong.

The white butterfly wisps surround him. They flutter rapidly.

He feels the ground fall from beneath him. He is falling.

He is falling into the pool that he was standing in. The butterflies are covering him.

Brian looks around. He stops.

His name is Brian?

That feels right? It doesn’t. He had other names. What had they been?

Brian. Brian. Brian. He chants he cannot forget his name. If he forgets his name then he forgets himself. He must hold onto his self.

He hits the pool. The demon stands in front of him and his grandmother and her biscuits are behind him. The geode is back in the sky. Roggie and Freddie are crying. John is shouting. He knows their names.

He knows his name.

“End your suffering, Birdie.”

“Come back to us, Birdie.”

Birdie does not know what he wants to do. He closes his eyes the sky screeches and rips and shreds and it becomes nothing. He is somewhere though. He is also nowhere.

A tiny white butterfly lands in front of him. It morphs from its winged form into something small round. Birdie loves it. He knows what it is but the creature’s name escapes him. Prickly with a twitching nose.

“Choose,” it says.

“End your suffering, Birdie.”

“Come back to us, Birdie.”

“Be mine, child.”

“Become nothing.”

He does not know that last voice. It almost sounds like him, bursting through his chest. The world shakes.

“You are running out of time,” the tiny prickly ball says.

Birdie closes his eyes and makes his choice.

His ‘hullo’ echoes around him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh. That answered things, right?
> 
> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on tumblr!


	16. What the hell do you expect when death is taking second place?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a late chapter. I'm so sorry, but I hope that it makes up for it. I had writer's block and then I spent a good amount of time working out some of the scenes.

John has had better days.

He stares at the bottle in his hand. Veronica had barely been able to stop the seepage, and they have no clue how much or _what _came out of it. His chest aches and his head hurts and there’s a lingering burn of guilt in the back of his throat every time he looks at Clare.

Clare who has so far been kind enough to not comment on the fact that he drugged her brother. Not that he knows if the timeline in his head that he has constructed is anywhere near to the truth. Roger probably would have woken up after Clare went to visit her “friends.” It could be that she doesn’t know.

Eros, the irritatingly named familiar of his sister, reminds him that the Taylors don’t take kindly to those that harm their family. She has lectured him repeatedly. Julie keeps scowling at him with a look that reminds him too much of his mother.

John has learned that waving off any discussion with saying his ribs hurt puts a pin in it, but he thinks that the younger sisters have bonded and are now working to get the truth out of him. Their questions are fair.

_Where did you go?_

_Who did you talk to?_

_What is the deal with that bottle?_

John cradles it close to his chest. Veronica had woken him up panicked, asking if he had swapped out the bottles and then nearly slapping him across the back of the head when he said he hadn’t. How is anyone to know what Hell Glass does on the mortal plane other than demons?

Eros huffs and drops to the ground, one ear twisting towards him as he settles next to the dog bed rather than in it. John knows he can’t sneak off; he won’t get far before his stitches send him doubling over or Eros tracks him down.

He is starting to think Percy is in on this conspiracy too. If only he could convince one of him that he can make it to the Taylor’s clinic. John can only pray that they will keep Brian on the machines long enough for him to replace his soul inside of his body.

“Thinking of running again?” Veronica pushes the door open.

Eros lets out a quiet bark of discomfort, before settling down. This time he keeps his eyes open as he watches Veronica move around the room. He grumbles and drops his head to the floor.

“The seal won’t hold,” John says.

He turns the star-shaped bottle in his hands. The seal Veronica had made is more of a housing putty for forest dwellings than any magical healing. Whatever a soul is made from is already pressing against it, causing it to bulge out and heat up. Gently he pushes it back only for him to feel it attempt to push out the sides.

“It won’t,” Veronica agrees, “but you shouldn’t be moving with those ribs. Clare said –”

“I know what Clare said,” John grumbles, “but we can’t lose any more time.”

“Already it could be too late.”

“Veronica.”

“John.”

Veronica stares at him with her lips pressed together. He stares right back at her. Life would have been easier to keep loving her but she isn’t his boys. He sighs, it feels like his boys are completely different people now. He sighs and looks back at the bottle.

Star dust glistens. It swirls in dizzying shades of purples and blues before shifting to pinks and oranges and creating colors he doesn’t have names for. Brian might be able to name the nebula it reminds him of. John tightens his grip on the bottle. His eye twitches.

“Out,” he says quietly.

“John.”

Veronica is leaning against the doorframe and Eros lifts his head again, his tail thumping once against the carpet.

“Out.”

This time it is firmer.

Something twists in his stomach. It is dark and ugly. He feels lava has been poured down his back. Every breath from Veronica and Eros rattle in his head, they bounce in his throat with hot coals. The pine walls feel as though they are leaning over him. Closing in.

“Get out!”

His voice cracks.

Veronica pushes from the door, her eyes wide and shimmering with the green of her magic. She tightens her jaw and drops her hands to her hips. Eros lets out a woof as he stands and trots out.

“John, you need to stop pushing people away,” Veronica steps into the room.

“No! I don’t!” John isn’t yelling, his throat is too melted for that, “let me _grieve!”_

When Veronica takes another step in John's direction he glares. She stops and throws her hands into the air.

“Fine! Deal with this yourself! It was a mistake for you to go after him!”

Veronica turns with her arms still thrown up and she slams the door on the way out. The pictures shudder. John sets Brian on the nightstand and buries his hands in his hair and pulls. The pain distracts him from the world collapsing around him, but the walls keep falling on top of him. There is an anvil on his chest and the tips of his fingers feel cold and numb.

His body doesn’t feel like his. The sensations overwhelm him. Each flex of his hands feels like it was done by another person. Soft cotton of his shirt feels like falling into a haystack, denim on his pants makes him want to scream – it rubs and scrapes. The ringing in his ears becomes nails on a chalkboard. His throat closes and he sucks in quiet rapid breaths to get air into his lungs.

Everything cuts off like a record scratch.

John stares down at the carpeted floor. He can count each thread as it curls and frays. His hands are still in his hair but he does not know how they remain. Each breath is in and out, faster than anything he has played on his bass. Short gasps bounce around the room with sharp _hhn hhn hnn _noises. His tongue presses against his teeth and he moves it but it feels like an invader in his body. Sensations build around him gradually, the tide coming in. He sees the individual threads on the carpet, beige turning to dark brown as the sun goes down.

The walls must be touching his back now as he bends down and his forehead touches his knees. He thinks they’re his knees. Each touch of skin on skin feels like he is touching through his welder’s gloves. John bites down on his tongue but it doesn’t feel like his tongue. The pain gets hidden under the _hhn hnn hhn _sounds.

He tries to count the individual threads of the shag carpet. 1. 2. 3. _Hhn. Hh. Nnn._ 1\. 2. 3. John doubles over further. His ribs join the muffled pain of his tongue but it slowly crawls its way between his gasping until the only thing he can feel is the pain on his ribs.

It feels muffled. He counts the threads on the carpet. John doesn’t think he can get past three. The walls will start to crush him. He can’t bend down further. Where are his hands? His hands? In his hair. There is a shag carpet. His ribs hurt. Who is he?

His name is John Richard Deacon.

The name rings like salvation.

His name is John Richard Deacon.

His name is John Richard Deacon and he was born in August.

He was born on August 19, 1951. His name is John Richard Deacon and he was born on August 19, 1951.

His friends call him Deaky. He was born on August 19, 1951. His name is John Richard Deacon.

His name is John Richard Deacon.

Everything snaps back into him. He feels where his scalp is aching because of how tightly he held on to the strands of his hair. His nails feel like they’ve been ripped up. They’re bent at an awkward and dig into his skin. His ribs feel worse than when he broke them.

John wiggles his tongue. It fits awkwardly in his mouth, swollen from how hard he bit it. He swallows the blood and ignores the taste. The world is blurry on the edges but the walls aren’t falling on him any longer. He can straighten his spine even when his ribs scream at him in protest. The carpet is dark brown, and there are spots where it is darker. From blood – he feels tears fall down his cheeks.

When had he begun to cry?

His chest still jumps with each breath. Each breath feels like it is pumped through him. It feels like it is pumped through him and this must be what Brian feels like. It isn’t him breathing. He wants to stop breathing.

His name is John Richard Deacon and he is a fucking failure.

He lets himself fall backward on the bed. He wants the walls to fall on him now. The iron decorations should pierce through his weakened rib cage. John wants to stop feeling. This is too much but he can’t feel any of it. If he had let himself stop feeling and done things with logic. Brian wouldn’t be hooked up to a machine that lets him breathe.

That is if Roger and Freddie didn’t just let him go peacefully in the night.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

John tries to gain control of his breathing, but it feels like a machine. Pulled. Pushed. Pulled. Pushed. How do you breathe? The air feels heavy in his lungs. Each thought brings him closer to thinking about breathing and letting himself stop. Once he is unconscious his body will save him, like it is doing now.

He won’t be feeling.

He won’t know that he is a failure.

Protecting Brian was his job. Protecting the others is why he made that deal. He let demons waltz into his home and rip Brian’s heart from his chest.

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up.

He keeps breathing.

John drops his head to the side, looking away from the ceiling. The room is completely dark save for the illumination of the bottle holding Brian’s soul. The colors blend and twist and pull from each other. He keeps staring as his chest keeps rising and falling.

Blue forms the shape of a human followed by a soft peach color. They twine together. John can see them dance among the stars. Each move feels scripted in the way all perfect moments are. John watches.

He and Brian had danced in the kitchen one morning. Brian was hiding another nightmare from them, shaky from tea and toast only, dark circles under his eyes and a nervous twitch to his head. The radio had been playing some elegant waltz that is too expensive for them. John had switched the channel to a lovely piano piece. The keys jumped and sung with joy.

He had grabbed Brian’s shaky hands and pulled him up. Brian shook his head, but John kept turning him around the kitchen, making up the dance with each step. Brian fell in after him before they both came to a mutual swaying. Their feet stuck to the floor in the early summer humidity.

John had loved him then.

He snaps back as the blue and peach push away from each other, interrupted by purple and yellow. Explosions of joy and vibrancy. Melancholy gray swirls at the top and there are white-hot stars that make it shine.

This is Brian’s soul. It is fragile and stunning and precious. And it is running out of time.

John inhales and swallows down the fear. He reaches a finger out to stroke the sealed bottled. For half a beat he things about unclasping the lid and setting Brian free. He could bury his transgressions under a guilt-filled reaction. He could hide his mistakes at the cost of Brian’s life.

Slowly he pulls his hand back and shakes away the tentacles wrapping around his brain. The thought scares him – it wasn’t his. On weakened and shaking legs he stands. His satchel is slumped in the old wicker chair and he slings it over his shoulder. His chest sears at the movement.

Gingerly he places Brian’s soul in the bag, protected using a discarded towel on the shag carpet. He takes in another deep breath and opens the door.

Julie stares at him, her arms crossed and wearing a look she has perfected from their mother.

“Sneaking out again, John?”

He straightens, “leave it.”

Julie steps in front of him, “you’re bad at filtering your bonds from mum, she felt you vanish. Don’t know where you went.”

John opens his mouth.

“But that bottle is why.”

He shakes his head. Only Veronica and the demons know of his bargain. His sister, for all that it was for her, doesn’t know. John knows his mother may suspect something and there are days where the room fills with the air of his father’s disappointment. Like his soul knows that John is what killed him.

“You’re scaring me,” Julie says, “you’re like you were when dad died.”

John bites the denial on his tongue.

“Clare told me that one of your friends is dying.”

“He’ll be fine.”

Julie sighs, it reminds him too much of himself, “John it sounds bad. The kind of bad you can’t fix unless you’re willing to do something worse.”

He has.

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

He can tell Julie doesn’t believe him, she leans back but her eyes stay on his face and her fingers are digging into the skin of her biceps. Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, a stubborn strand sticking straight up.

“Then why bang on Veronica’s door at three in the morning. Hysterical?”

“You already know why,” John replies.

“Drunk, with a broken rib?”

John tries to move past her, but she easily sways in front of his path. He can’t go further without pushing her out of the way and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt her or rather allow her to pin him to the ground like she did when they were kids.

“Johnny,” Julie says softly, “you’re scaring me.”

“I know what I’m doing, Jules.”

He reaches up and cups her face before bringing her into a hug. John kisses her on the crown of her head but she tries to wiggle free and push away. Her dark eyes stare up at him and he remembers how young she is.

“John…”

“I know, Julie, but trust me. I won’t let it be like when we lost dad.”

Julie grabs his hand, “I know we were young – I barely remember him – but you were so different, it didn’t feel like you were my brother…it scared me.”

John swallows down his tears and brings his sister into another hug, “you haven’t met Roger and Freddie, yet, have you?”

“Not for family dinner.”

“I’ll have to bring them by once all of this is settled,” _if they ever want to see me again._

“You should. You’re always so happy when you talk about them – even think about them. This new one… he is like them?”

John thinks about the bottle in the bag and closes his eyes. He thinks about Brian with stringy hair from the shower and how he wanders around with it soaking everything he lays on, including Roger, Freddie, and himself. The wet hair slapping him is annoying because Brian is always restless, but he remembers how Brian would sink into him once he calmed. He always smelled like clean laundry and lemons after a shower.

“Yeah,” John replies with a tiny grin, “loves the stars and small animals and is far too smart for his own good.”

Julie grins up at him, her eyes are still sad and tired, “well, glad someone finally has brains in that coven.”

He nudges her gently, “hey now.”

“Clare’s gone back. You probably should too. Mum is there,” Julie says quickly.

John pauses, “why is mum?”

“Maybe because she heard that one of her son’s covenmates is in a bad way and she wanted to be supportive and she felt _you.”_

Clare is likely going to be unable to lie to Roger about where she’s been. He doesn’t want her to get into trouble on his account. John shakes his head, his heart hammering against his sternum. Julie reaches out and places her hand against his chest

“I’ll be with you the entire way too,” Julie smiles, “someone has to make sure you get over there with no interruptions.”

He tightens his hand over Julie’s when Veronica appears around the corner. Her lips are pressed tightly together and her magic is searing even from this distance. Julie follows his gaze and steps away.

“I’ll go get Eros then.”

John waves her away before stepping closer to Veronica. She tilts her head and nods.

“She’s far enough away now,” Veronica says.

She is leaning against the wall eying his satchel. John moves it behind him and she rolls his eyes.

“I was talking with some of my… associates… very few humans have ever survived a full soul transfer, much less and impartial one. Those that did… they were powerful witches, fully awakened and their body wasn’t damaged.”

“What are you saying, Veronica? I’m still going to try.”

“I’m _trying_ to get it into your head that this isn’t the guaranteed solution, it’s crazy and desperate. It is the kind of thing people do when there isn’t a prayer for a miracle.”

John shakes his head, “it’s what I have.”

Veronica scoffs, “John, you threw _everything _away for a **_chance.” _**

“It wouldn’t have worked…” John clears his throat.

“You still had them, and it sounds like now you might not and you might not have even saved Brian. If you did and by some miracle of the ancients he survives how much of him is going to be Brian?”

“Enough,” John says, “and he’ll be alive.”

“And that’ll fix things with all of your partners?” Veronica shakes her head, “remember what you bargained me, John.”

“I won’t break it,” he replies.

“You can’t,” Veronica shrugs, “but don’t – don’t count on this fixing everything.”

John clears his throat, “it has to.”

Veronica shakes her head.

* * *

If it weren’t for Julie’s iron grip on his wrist and Eros trotting beside him, John doesn’t think that he would be able to approach the clinic. He knows he must, it is the only way to fix everything, but he knows that if Roger has figured out what he’s done – and John isn’t foolish enough to think that he hadn’t – there is a storm coming.

Thunder rumbles in the distance. The air is tacky with the heaviness of rain.

He also wants to check on Freddie and see how he is healing.

His mother stepping outside of the clinic is almost enough to make him doubt the wisdom of going inside. He looks down and scuffs his boot into the ground as she meets his eyes.

“John,” she says, “come here.”

John sinks into his mother’s hug before pulling away and clearing his throat.

“Are you better?” She asks.

He gives a half shrug, “better than I was.”

“How are your ribs?”

His mother raises an eyebrow and he pulls his shoulders into him. John shoves his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. Julie releases his wrist finally.

“How did you…?”

“Doctor Taylor told me,” Lillian says, “and you’re not standing up straight.”

“Ah. How is… everything in there?”

This time Lillian looks away and gently tugs on the bottom hem of her shirt, “it’s good you came today.”

Ice fills his veins. There is only one thing that can mean. He looks past her and to the door before looking back at his mother. Julie has taken a step back and his chest fills with air that he can’t let out. It crawls up his throat and digs in. No. No. He can’t have been too late.

“Not yet,” Lillian says, “but they’re doing it today. There’s… there isn’t anything else we can do for him.”

“Can I?”

Lillian stands to the side as John stumbles past her. He can hear Julie saying something to her, but he pulls the satchel up against his chest as he enters the clinic. There is a chill and if he closes his eyes he can feel the path that the air is taking. The building is unfamiliar to him, but he knows that the chill must be coming from Brian’s room.

Heat starts to burn against the leather of his bag. He walks slowly, the air is becoming stale in his throat and he doesn’t think that he has taken a breath since walking into the building. Since running into his mother.

In the back of his head, he can feel both Freddie and Roger clearly for the first time in – John doesn’t know how many days it has been. It must be days at this point. Roger’s bond vibrates and shrieks and it is only another beat before he sees Roger step out of what he knows is Brian’s room.

The air frees itself from his lungs as it is pushed out of him and he can’t take in any more air. Roger’s blond hair is greasy and pulled back into a sloppy braid. His blue eyes are brightened by the dark circles underneath and his skin has taken on a waxy pale shade instead of his natural sun-kissed shade.

He looks as bad as Brian did during the worst of his nightmares.

Roger’s eyes widen and he feels heat radiate off the bond, but it doesn’t feel like pure anger. The anger Roger has always felt is blue-hot and steady – this is cool-red and jumpy and a twist of yellow underneath it and it vibrates like Freddie’s vibrato.

John looks around the hallway for Freddie. He doesn’t see the singer, but he can feel him nearby. His mouth opens to ask, but then he presses it together at Roger’s face. It’s Roger’s choice now and John has to live with whatever comes from it.

“John,” Roger says.

His voice is raspy and rough like he smoked an entire pack of cigarettes before singing in his falsetto nonstop. John pulls his hands from his pockets and he bounces his leg into the satchel as it swings into him. It is becoming uncomfortably hot.

“You’re back.”

He winces.

“Best make your goodbyes now,” Roger says before clearing his throat, “I’ll be in Freddie’s room. Find me after, or don’t.”

John steps forward only to see Roger step back and keep his eyes on John’s hands.

“Roger – I…”

“Once you finish – we have to for Brian’s sake. Peace of the spirit. And I don’t – I don’t want you to waste your last few moments with him because of _our _problems.”

He bites his cheek, “please. Let me explain.”

“Not now,” Roger shakes his head and then tosses it to the door.

“Make your peace.”

John barely stops himself from following Roger. He knew he messed up, but he expected to be greeted by that famous Taylor temper, to be yelled at until Roger calmed himself and John could make his explanation. Not that it would save his spot in their bed – but he knows how to deal with an angry Roger. This is uncharted. This Roger is more hurt than angry more afraid of John than whatever his story is.

He swallows the bile. Instead, he takes a deep breath and steps into Brian’s room.

John could never explain what he was expecting. Logically he knew what he would possibly see, _had _seen before he left to try and fix this. IV lines in Brian’s hands. His skin matching the pillow underneath him, wild curls sad and heavy with the grime of being not properly tended to.

This didn’t feel like his Brian. There are still IV lines and he is still blending into the pillow, but his hair had been gathered and made to form a bun on the top of his head. The mask takes over much of Brian’s face. His cheeks sunken and shallow leaving him to be even smaller.

He listens to the hiss of the breath. Each rise and fall in Brian’s chest is controlled. John steps forward and reaches out a shaking hand before pulling it back and pressing it to his mouth. This is something he can fix. He has the answer in his back.

Slowly he runs his hand down Brian’s face. The skin there is dry and feels thin. John wonders if an accidental scratch of a nail will split it open. He closes his eyes to the image of Brian drowning in his blood, face stained red. This white tomb stained red.

Brian looks a lot like his father did at the end. His mother had been kinder though, allowing him to slip away without the machinery keeping his body moving. John knew the night they loaded him into the ambulance that his father wasn’t going to come home because it didn’t feel like his father.

Brian doesn’t feel like Brian either.

“I’m sorry,” John says, “I’m so sorry.”

His voice shatters the peace of the room and he finds himself dropping into the chair that has been placed next to Brian’s head. John wants to reach out and touch, but he keeps his hands to himself. He has a job to do.

“I should have – I should have been more prepared. I should have trusted my gut and not think that because nothing had happened that nothing would.”

“I love you,” John adds quieter, “I can only hope you can forgive me.”

John knows that the loud beep was in his head when he looks at the screen nothing has changed. It is the same even 70 beats per minute. They haven’t even written a song that slow. Up and down, up and down, up and down, the rhythm goes.

There are a thousand things he wants to say at this moment when he knows that they will not be witnessed by another, but the things that he wants to say will do no good to be heard on deaf ears. John sits up and places a kiss right on the edge of Brian’s ventilator.

He reaches into his bag and pulls the bottle out. If it weren’t for the towel he worries that he would not be able to hold it without burning his hands. John sets it on the table before pulling the mask away from Brian’s face.

The tube bends and he can see the oxygen level drop, but it only goes down a point every few seconds. Brian’s nose is free and it is strange to not feel any air come from it as he places his hand underneath it. Gently setting the mask lower on his face, or as low as he can keep it without holding onto it, John reaches back over to the bottle.

“Please,” he prays.

The bottle opens with surprising ease. A tiny _fwip _as the cork slides out of the opening. The sharp smell of ozone and clean laundry and lemons bursts from the lid seconds before the soul does.

John closes his eyes at the bright flash, but for a moment he is surrounded by stars. Purples and blues and peaches and golds, each painting a galaxy on the wall before slowly filtering away. Patterns spin in memories, he can see the one of him and Brian dancing, the two colors twisting endlessly. He can see streaks of heavy gray that twists around the two figures and pulls them apart. Maybe there are memories of Roger and Freddie hidden in the indescribable patterns.

Once when he was younger, for Yule, his mother tried one of the non-witch decorations, it had been a light with multi-colored sheets of plastic and the light bounced around the room through the ripples. The whine in the room sounds like when the motor had died. Julie had loved that thing so much she kept it on all through the night.

John watches the soul sink into Brian, it reminds him of how Roger will suck smoke back into his lungs after he blew countless smoke rings. He is careful to keep himself still, one wave of his hand can send part of the wispy essence into the nether.

Enough has been lost already.

The brilliance of the soul fades. A tiny white tendril brushing underneath his jaw before sinking into Brian’s still form. Brian’s form which is still being forced to breathe by a tube and still his heart ticks at 70 beats per minute. Death’s chill still fills the room.

Nothing has changed. Brian still looks dead to the world. John looks to the table where the empty bottle is slowly disintegrating. It makes a quiet chime as it vanishes it fades into the air. John waves his hand where it had been but, nothing clings to him.

He bows down and rubs his hands through his hair. It can’t be. Everything that he has done is for nothing? Veronica had tried to warn him – maybe they had lost too much of his soul before they sealed it. More could have escaped on his walk over.

John looks up to the screen and sees no change. Nothing. He reaches up and fixes the mask on Brian’s face and the oxygen levels start climbing again. He pauses a moment hoping to feel a spark – a surge of life under Brian’s skin.

Nothing.

“Brimi,” he whispers, “Brian. Birdie. Why?”

Had Brian simply given up? Was **This** his fate regardless of what John did. Freddie had been so sure about him growing old with them. His bond hasn’t lit up in the back of his head. It’s even fainter now that there is no concentrated part of his soul. He gazes at Brian’s stone-like face waiting for a flicker of an eye or twitch of a lip. Anything. The machines might not be registering physical changes, but there has to _something._

Brian still doesn’t feel like himself. He still feels like John’s father had.

“_Brian,” _he cries.

John sniffles and drops back against the chair staring up at the ceiling. The tiles are speckled with gray but they don’t tell him anything. He takes in a breath, and it shakes inside of him, rattles his broken bones before escaping in a quick wheeze.

He focuses on pulling in air and releasing it. Each time it rattles and wheezes. John closes his eyes to the burn of tears, he has already succumbed to tears once today. He still must talk with Roger and he would rather not cry thrice in the same day. When he looks up at Brian’s ashen face – _how does he look worse? _

John brings his knees up to his face before pausing and sucking in a deep breath. No. He will lose it only when he talks to Roger. The longer he sits here the more certain he is of that outcome. Veronica had been right.

Carefully he unfolds himself from the chair, reaching down with a steady hand to brush against a curl that has fallen free from the bun. It is springy and shinny and exactly like Brian used to keep his hair once he broke free from the atrocious straightening. John bends down and kisses him at the corner of his eyes, pausing to wait and see if it will crinkle the way it always did.

It doesn’t.

John straightens, shoving his hands in his pockets again, twisting loose threads around his fingers and squaring his shoulders.

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to face the music.

* * *

Freddie watches Roger lean back against the chair. He bites down on his tongue. This Roger is unpredictable to him. He hasn’t been able to rely on his future sight recently. Where they have found themselves was unlike anything he had ever seen. Freddie would never doubt his trance visions except that Brian is down the hall using a tube to breathe and he is in his twenties and not shredding guitar with silvered hair.

There are four even timed knocks on the door. Roger lets out a long breath before he clears his throat. He runs a hand down his braid and pulls at his bracelet which snaps against his wrist. Roger undoes the braid only to twine it back together. The hair is nearly brown with grease.

“Yeah?” Freddie calls.

“It’s John.”

He looks back at Roger. Roger doesn’t nod but Freddie understands.

“Come in.”

John pushes in the door and closes it. It slams closed and John jumps. He looks behind him at the door before looking at Freddie and then back to Roger. Freddie rubs his chest as the tension between the two sparks.

“Do you want to start this conversation?” Roger asks, slinging his leg over his other one.

Freddie watches him snap the bracelet. _Smack. Smack. Smack. _The beads click with each strike.

John bites his bottom lip and then clears his throat.

“No?” Roger tilts his head, “want me to?”

_Smack._

John leans against the wall and Freddie can see how he bites down on his cheek. He looks towards the wall.

“Roger…” John says quietly.

Roger shakes his head, “John, you – out of everyone I wouldn’t have thought _you _would. Why John?”

“I’m sorry…” John said.

“Oh, that makes everything better,” Roger growls.

_Smack.Smack.Smack._

“Roger, don’t be cruel,” Freddie says, “John you might need to explain yourself.”

Roger raises an eyebrow, _smack_, “yes, John, explain yourself.”

John closes his eyes and he swallows. His fingers flex into his palm. Freddie reaches out to Roger only to be brushed off by an aggressive shoulder roll. He brings his hand back to his lap.

“You needed sleep,” John says, “I shouldn’t have done it without your knowledge.”

Roger nods, “that’s a bit of it. But why?”

“You needed sleep.”

Freddie wants to shake the answers out of John.

“And I needed space, I know I shouldn’t have,” John repeats.

Roger scowls. _Smack.Smack. Smack._

“There was no good reason for it,” John says, “I wanted the space and I hoped when I came back things would change and I know you needed to sleep so I thought that was the best way but nothing has changed and it wasn’t.”

Roger bobs his head, “that’s it. There’s no other reason?”

John nods.

“You’re not taking the piss?” Roger shakes his head, his eyes widen.

John shakes his head.

“Jesus,” Roger raises his hand to his to mouth and balls it into a fist, he bites down on it.

Freddie can see a line of red as he pulls it away. The clock has become obnoxiously loud. _Smack. **Tick. **Smack. **Tock.**_

“That’s it. You _drugged _me for space?”

“No, not just – you were at your limit.”

“It was your fantasy world. You didn’t think that you could talk to me and you drugged me and thought that when you came back everything would be fixed?”

Freddie backs up from the rise in volume and tempo of Roger’s voice. He is getting angry.

** _Tick._ ** _Smack.**Tock.**Smack.**Tick.**_

“You left us – and Brian – alone for something you knew wasn’t going to happen!” Roger lets out a long breath, “you betrayed me for an impossibility. _John.”_

John winces and Freddie can see the fogginess in his eyes and line to his shoulders. He narrows his eyes. It might be John that is the hardest to read on a given day but now Freddie knows that he is hiding something. He can see it in the way John isn’t making eye contact with either of them.

“_John,” _Roger’s voice breaks, “_please, _tell me there’s another reason. Please.”

** _Tock. _ ** _Smack. **Tick.**_

John shakes his head, “no. I thought it would change things. And I thought the sleeping draught would be good for you – I don’t – I know _why _I did it that way, but it was wrong. And I’m sorry Roger. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Freddie watches John fall to the ground. His knees hit the tiles with a painful sounding click. **_Tock. _**_Smack. **Tick. **Smack. **Tock. **_He wants to step forward and comfort him, but Roger looks like he is going to scream.

“I failed – and I’m sorry and I tried but I failed.”

“Deaky,” he whispers.

It doesn’t seem like John is paying them any attention as he heaves shaking breath. Roger’s scowl falls and he looks away and then back at John, he sees how his fingers twitch. **_Tick. _**_Smack. **Tock.**_

Freddie drops from the bed gracefully he strides over to John and reaches to touch his shoulder.

Like with Roger, his hand is shoved off and John gives a loud sob. Freddie pulls his hand back to his body and rubs at it, unsure of what he should do. He looks back at Roger who is watching John with a confused expression.

“I’m sorry. I failed. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I ruined it. I ruined everything. I _failed.” _

He stares at John who keeps mumbling into his knees. Freddie doesn’t understand.

“John – what did you fail?” He crouches down.

_Smack. _Beads clatter to the ground. A few roll next to him.

“I tried to fix everything, but I _failed.”_

“No, love,” Freddie says gently, “no one failed… or we all did. We should have been better prepared or gotten to Brian faster.”

“I ruined it,” John barks.

Freddie opens his mouth when Roger brushes past him but hesitates at the door.

“You did,” and then he steps out of the room.

Freddie looks after Roger with his mouth hanging open. He had known Roger’s feelings – it isn’t a surprise – but for him to _walk out _on _John _when he is sobbing and remorseful. It doesn’t make sense. Roger cares and Freddie has been on the receiving end of Roger’s ire even as he patched him up from whatever he got into.

** _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._ **

John sobs harder. Hard enough that all comes out is a choked sob that doesn’t have a sound. He is shaking and gasping and Freddie wants to comfort him, but his touch is unfriendly.

“Deaky,” he says softly.

“No. Rog-,” he hiccups, “ger is right. I did ruin everything.”

“No, he is upset.”

“I did.

Freddie’s hand hovers over John’s shoulder, “you didn’t, dearest.”

John shakes his head, almost smacking it into the wall behind him. Freddie reaches out to cushion the blow if it comes to it, but John doesn’t seem like he wants to respond – or can. He doesn’t think he’s seen John take a normal breath since he walked into the room.

“Freddie, please leave me be.”

Freddie shakes his head, the rejection on the tip of his tongue.

“M’not gonna run off. I just wanna sleep,” John mumbles.

“At least get toe the bed, Deaky-darling.”

John shakes his head.

** _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick._ **

“For me?” Freddie shifts back, “just ten steps and then I’ll leave.”

Freddie’s heart shattered the rest of the way. There is a pit in his stomach that has grown since they found out that Brian was missing and now it has turned into a yawning void. It cracks into his skin and makes his eyes itch and the slowly returning magic bubbles in his veins.

John’s eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. The skin of his cheek is blotchy with a runny nose. His irises dart around the room and he starts picking on the loose skin around his fingers as his breathing comes it quick _hhn-hhn-hhn._

“There we go, now up.”

John stands with his help, leaning into him but not leaning into him for support. Freddie gently guides him to the bed and then laying down when it seems like John isn’t going to do that himself. His breathing is evening out, but he keeps staring at something a thousand meters ahead of him. Freddie pulls the blanket over him.

“Smells like you,” John mumbles.

“It’s my bed,” Freddie lets out a watery laugh, “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

_And maybe Roger will have calmed down._

Freddie checks over his shoulder one more time before stepping out of the room and trying to softly close the door.

** _Tock. Tick. Tock._ **

He glances down the hallway and sees no one – the sound of the silence in the hallway is nauseating. As though waking up from a dream he can hear voices. Roger is shouting, and he wonders who has invoked the blond’s temper. Clare who warned them John was coming back today or his uncle? It would never be his mother.

He steps lightly, schooling his features to one of exhaustion. Right now he is too drained, and it would be unreasonable for him to look unaffected. Freddie dips into Brian’s room, sniffing.

The room smells strange – like ozone and lemons and something so distinctly Brian that he can’t place it but to call it Brian. Freddie steps further into the room, nearer to Brian who hasn’t changed since the last he visited. He sits in the chair and sees John’s presence in the satchel that is discarded next to the bed.

“Birdie,” he whispers.

Freddie doesn’t know where to start. Roger’s unusual aggression and dismissal of John or John who he has never seen break like that or Brian who won’t be breathing in a few more hours.

He doesn’t know why or how Roger became so adamant about letting Brian go. So certain that this is the right thing for them to do for him. Freddie doesn’t think he can fix his mental wallpaper to include fifty years without Brian.

He doesn’t know how he is going to wake up tomorrow when he knows that he won’t wake up with Brian’s curls in his mouth or to some sad guitar melody that kept Brian up.

As shallow as it makes him feel, he doesn’t know how to go on without Brian in Queen either. He won’t let another guitarist touch Red, but they aren’t Queen without her sound and Brian playing her.

He places his hand on Brian’s thin wrist, avoiding the needles has become second nature to him. Freddie closes his eyes and lets the warmth of their hands become the focus of his mind.

There are still so many things he needs to say to Brian about things that they won’t be able to experience, and Freddie can’t formulate the words for experiences he hasn’t had yet. He wanted those with Brian.

After a few minutes, he pulls his hand from Brian’s to wipe off the sweat that’s collected between the two of them. The thin shirt scrapes his palm and he quickly replaces it on Brian’s wrist. Freddie had his time to say goodbye earlier, but he still doesn’t know the single phrasing that will wrap everything up to be satisfying.

There never will be a single thing.

Freddie glances up to Brian’s face – he wants to memorize it in person one last time so he can finally do that portrait he had been threatening Brian with since they met. He blinks.

Hazel eyes blink back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Only good things going forward, yes?
> 
> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on Tumblr!


	17. How do you restart the wheel of fate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here.  
This one was giving me a lot of trouble because it wanted to go ten different directions but I got it to calm down and go in the way that I want it to be.

Freddie blinks. The hazel eyes are staring at him. They are half-lidded and glossy. He doubts Brian knows what is happening.

“Brian?” He asks quietly.

The air swells with anticipation. He reaches a hand out. Maybe to brush the curls from Brian’s face or to hold his hand – no they are still holding hands. Brian is the perfect reflection in the puddle. The kind you want to jump in but hate that you did once you do. Freddie’s fingertips ghost across Brian’s temple, he feels sparks fly up his arm from the contact.

“Bri,” he tries again.

Brian’s gaze has drifted, but so far as Freddie can tell there is nothing else in this room. He goes to cup Brian’s face – only halted by a loud gagging noise. It turns into choking and Brian’s eyes fall closed and his body goes rigid. The monitors scream.

Freddie trips over his feet to get to the door.

“Roger!”

He yells, “please come quickly!”

Roger runs into his vision. A beautiful mess, his hair is flying free but held down by oil. He hopes John has managed to pull himself together or his mother has talked some sense into him they might need him – are the alarms getting louder?

“Freddie? What are you on about?” Roger hesitates at the door.

“Help him!” He shouts.

The noise unfreezes Roger as his uncle turns the corner. Freddie follows him into the room. Roger is by Brian’s side and carefully pulls Brian back onto his back from where he had rolled onto his sides. The wet clicking noise interrupts the alarms.

“What?” Roger squints.

“He woke up,” Freddie rushes out.

He still can’t believe it. He doesn’t know that it had been Brian waking up and just some physical reaction in a dying body.

_Brian woke up!_

Doctor Taylor pushes him to the side as he gets next to Brian’s side, “what is happening?”

“Brian woke up,” Freddie repeats.

At the same time, Roger says, “he’s fighting the intubation.”

Freddie feels hands grab his shoulders, keeping him from the edge of the bed. When did Clare get here? Roger’s hands are on Brian’s face trying to soothe him back to sleep.

_Shouldn’t he be trying to wake Brian up?_

“He is fighting,” Doctor Taylor says, setting Brian’s wrist back on the bed.

“Pull the tube, he isn’t letting it do his job. He is trying to breathe around it and –”

Roger’s jaw tightens, “where the hell is John?”

Roger’s hands change from green to a pale yellow. Freddie can feel a gentle pull towards his hands and he stares. He wonders why Roger is pouring so much magic into such a simple spell.

“Okay, keep him steady,” Doctor Taylor says.

His voice is infuriatingly calm. Doctor Taylor grabs the protruding end of the tube – Freddie closes his eyes and leans into Clare’s touch. He tries to block out the sound of what is happening.

There are a tiny wheeze and a gag. Freddie presses his palms to his ears to try and block out any more of the sound and uncovers them after two minutes pass. He looks up and sees that Brian is breathing on his own. Doctor Taylor is pulling the nasal cannula from the wall to wrap around Brian’s head, but Freddie doesn’t see any numbers that look bad – not that he understands what he is looking at – but the numbers are higher than they were which means they should be better.

“I don’t understand it,” Doctor Taylor glances down at Brian who has fallen asleep or unconscious.

“He just woke up,” Freddie shrugs.

Brian hadn’t been here and now he was. Freddie doesn’t know what happened to change it. Something had to have though.

Roger is running his hands through Brian’s knotted hair, watching the screens with bewildered relief. Freddie can sense the lingering magic from him, even if the glow has dimmed.

“Well,” Doctor Taylor says.

Freddie nods in agreement. He doesn’t think they should follow the trail of _how_ until Brian is better, awake and talking to them like he should have been the past three days.

“I’m going to go get some things. Roger? Keep an eye on him.”

“Yeah,” Roger says weakly.

Freddie can finally step forward as Clare moves away. Her eyes are looking around the room as well, but finding no answers she moves away a little further. Roger glances at his sister.

“Clare, see if Uncle needs any help.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t want to leave you alone – we don’t know –”

“Ten minutes isn’t going to change anything,” Roger shakes his head.

His hand hasn’t stopped moving through Brian’s curls. Freddie reaches out his own to circle Roger’s wrist. He can feel the flighty pulse. It feels like Roger has been drumming for three hours straight, but he doesn’t have the labored breathing. Freddie wraps his other hand around Roger’s head and brings it towards his chest.

Roger relaxes but his pulse stays up.

“I don’t like this,” Roger says.

“Roger!”

“No – I like – I’m thrilled that Brian seems to be on the mend – but I don’t _like _that we don’t know why or how or who.”

Freddie scratches Roger’s head, “and you don’t think that this was a kindness.”

“You know you don’t trust gifts. Not when you don’t know why or where they come from. That’s how you get into pacts you shouldn’t be in.”

Someone coughs. Freddie turns to the door and sees John holding himself up in the doorway. He still looks like a mess, his eyes are puffy and his skin is dull. There are tiny tremors in his frame and the way he is biting down on his lip means that he will start crying again.

Roger tenses against him when he notices John, he tugs on a lock of hair in a warning. They don’t need another fight – Freddie doesn’t need them to get along right now either but he can’t have them at each other’s throats when Brian is trying to heal.

“I heard – and I thought – but…”

“Did you do anything John?” Roger asks.

Freddie shivers at the ice in Roger’s tone.

“What?”

Roger looks up at Freddie, there is a spark in his eyes before it flickers out and he turns his gaze back to Brian. Freddie swallows.

“Never mind,” Roger murmurs.

“Roger…”

John steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. Roger straightens and Freddie gestures for the door to be opened again. It gets opened a crack and the tension simmers down again. Freddie drops Roger’s wrist in favor of running a hand through his hair.

“No, I want to know what he is implying.”

“It isn’t the time,” Freddie sighs, “please. Let’s be happy that Brimi is on the mend.”

“Fine by me,” Roger quips.

He doesn’t miss the wince on John’s face, but he walks to the other side of the bed and presses his hand on top of Brian’s. They aren’t looking at each other but Freddie knows that he should count it as a victory for the moment.

“He’s better?” John asks after a minute.

“Getting there,” Freddie replies when it’s clear that Roger won’t, “he woke up and it felt like he was here. Breathing on his own. I knew he was a fighter.”

“Or something is making him fight,” Roger replies.

“Miracles now answers later,” Freddie says.

John looks towards the window quickly. Freddie narrows his eyes and looks at John – truly looks at him. His body posture is tight, and John isn’t the most confident person that he has ever met, but he is comfortable in his own skin. John’s eyes skitter around the room, lingering on the bag in the chair and barely looking at Roger. Every time he looks at Brian, John looks heartbroken.

Freddie picks at the bond, but it is tight. Tighter than an over tuned guitar string. He plucks at it once but John jumps and he decides that like an over tuned guitar string, he needs to twist (whatever the fuck the tuners are called) slowly and ease the tension.

The hand that John has on Brian is steady and calm, but his other one is balled up into a fist at his side. Freddie can see that he is forcing the tremors from his chest into the fist, and then he keeps letting it swing. John’s lips are bruised from where he keeps biting down on them.

No. John isn’t about to cry – he is feeling guilty.

Freddie looks back at Brian who is resting with more comfort than he has these past few days. The blank look he had has turned into one of peace. He must be having pleasant dreams if that is the case. Roger’s hand hasn’t stopped moving, and Freddie can see where the curls are getting matted down with the oils from Roger’s hand.

The monitors have not changed either. The numbers are increasing but they’re doing so steadily. Still… Freddie can feel something linger on the edges. He knows that if he were to do another reading now – it would not be friendly. The Three of Swords would be pulled. He doesn’t understand it if John had done _something _to bring Brian back, why does it feel like a betrayal?

This is a betrayal beyond even what he did to Roger. Something heavy and very dark.

* * *

Brian feels the pain behind his eyes before he feels anything else. It feels like it’s right behind his nose and he wrinkles it to ease some of the pain, but it doesn’t help. He doesn’t feel like it is his nose. He snorts but something is blocking his nose.

_Okay?_

_Hm._

He tries to feel where his hands are, and at the slight twitch of his finger, he tries to raise them. They feel warmer than the rest of his body and he files the information away for future consideration. Brian stretches out his toes and he can feel something run up the back of his legs. Almost like wires behind reconnected his body becomes more tangible.

Heat settles in his chest. There are duel echoes of what he thinks should be his heartbeat. They beat out of time with each other and his lungs feel crowded out. Brian takes a deep breath, wondering at the fresh air and why it feels cool.

Everything feels normal. Well, everything but his chest. The warmth lingers on his hands, and now he notices how sweaty his hands are from whatever the warmth is. Brian scrunches his face and tries to figure out what is holding him down. It is just weight. The same size as his hand. He supposes it wouldn’t be odd to assume it’s another hand.

But who’s?

Where is he anyway?

Brian presses his lips together – or tries to – what is the last thing he remembers. Waking up shouldn’t be a process or at least he doesn’t’ think that it was a process before. There is darkness, an old woman, but the more he tries to grasp at those memories they fade. He is chasing a dream. What is more tangible?

Stone. The stones had been pressing on his back. He remembers feeling claustrophobic, stone pressing in on him. Folded uncomfortably. It doesn’t make sense why he would fall asleep when he knows he was uncomfortable.

Hot. Heat. He was burning. Is burning?

So maybe he hadn’t been asleep willingly?

Which means he should figure out where he is and who he is with.

The twin thumps in his chest distract him for a moment. He tries to breathe in time with them but whatever is in his nose fills his lungs too quick and he can’t hold it. His chest hurts when he tries. His body feels heavy. Had he been this heavy before he went to sleep?

Brian is sure that he would remember feeling heavy. He tightens his eyes and tries to open them. The first time fails – he thinks – his vision doesn’t change. Unless there is nothing to see? Part of him remembers seeing nothing and being nothing. But that doesn’t seem right. He is something?

Why do his eyes feel so strange?

Once more he tries to force open his eyes, this time the vision does change. Still dark and nothing is clear. He can’t keep them open for longer than one of his heartbeats and by the second he is falling back into that nothingness.

* * *

The second time that he comes to awareness his body does feel strange. Heavy and warm and unclean. Brian scrunches his face again and tries to open his eyes but he stops. The warmth on his hands is still present. He doesn’t know anything about his situation.

His best guess is that he is in a building, but he remembers that he had been under the sky. Under the stars.

He flexes his finger and it feels a little easier now. The pain behind his eyes is now at the top of his head and there is a spot along his spine. Brian shifts or he tries to but the pain keeps him still.

“Bri?”

He stills at the voice. They know him. Or they dug through his wallet thinking he was dead. He thinks that happens in real life.

“Brian?” The voice repeats, it is quiet and quick.

Unsure if this person is a friend or not Brian doesn’t react. He focuses on his toes, sure that the person isn’t paying that part of him any attention. Hopefully, his face isn’t showing that he is awake.

After a few minutes, any sound is muffled and he falls back into that floating place.

* * *

The third time he wakes up he can’t deny that he is awake. He feels real if he ignores the heaviness in his body and the twin beats in his chest. Brian’s eyes are fluttering open before he can think about if it is a good idea or not. The ceiling is brighter than it was. White and squares, but they’re painted with orange illumination. It must mean that it is late or early – which doesn’t help him at all.

His hands aren’t warm for once so he takes a moment to turn his head. A whimper forms in the back of his throat, his neck doesn’t want to move so he settles for closing his eyes and breathing through the pain.

“Did you hear something?” The voice is raspy and sleep heavy.

Brian knows that voice – and he must know it well enough to know what it sounds like when mixed with emotions.

“Nothing,” a second voice answers. The one from before.

There are two people in this building now? The pain builds in the back of his neck and he closes his eyes again and focuses on steadying the two heartbeats. They are longing for something. Their beats speeding up at the two stranger’s voices.

Brian forces himself to ignore his awareness and decides his questions can wait for another day.

* * *

The fourth time he wakes up proves to him that he can’t keep this charade going for much longer. His eyes don’t snap open, but the heaviness of his body hits him first and he is aware that the warmth on his hands are back, but this time he doesn’t have any pain in his head or neck so he turns his head, opening his eyes open a crack.

There is a person next to him. He isn’t surprised. Two were in the room before and he supposes that makes sense considering he has two hands and they’re both warm. Brian carefully keeps himself still as he observes the stranger.

Dark hair is spread out over the sheets. He follows the waves up to a face and takes in the relaxed planes of his face.

_Freddie._

The name snaps into his head like him waking up. His heartbeats pick up, and he wonders how worried he should be about his chest. Maybe he does not remember having two beats? But he remembers his name and Freddie’s name, and that seems a strange thing to forget.

Brian stares at Freddie wondering why his hearts are beating faster and why Freddie wants to hold his hand. He twitches his finger and then slowly rotates his hand over and laces their fingers together. Slowly he tilts his head and focuses on the sensation. The warmth and how it feels familiar.

Freddie snuffles and Brian feels his lips curl up. Then he squints. Why is he smiling? For a moment Freddie doesn’t wake up, but when Brian squeezes his hand he flutters his eyes open.

Dark eyes fall close before the snap open again. Brian tilts his head the other direction as Freddie rubs at his eyes with the palm of his free hand. The twin thumps in his chest pick up at the view. It’s cute.

“Brian?” Freddie whispers.

He nods and clears his throat. Brian wonders if he has been inhaling dust because his throat is gritty and dry. Freddie has not taken his gaze from him. The squeeze on his hand makes him jump and he looks at the juxtaposition of their skin tones. Brian squeezes again.

The fingers on his face startle and he turns towards them. Freddie pulls his hand away and purses his lips. This time Freddie approaches much slower and places his fingertips on Brian’s face, barely and pressure and no movement.

“There you are,” Freddie mumbles.

He wonders where he has been.

Brian hums and ends up coughing. Freddie’s hand goes from his face to his shoulder and gently pulls him upright. His chest is tight and grimaces at the double thuds and pulls his hand away from Freddie’s to rub at his chest. His arm doesn’t feel like it is completely his but it doesn’t move any slower – it is heavier so it doesn’t make much sense.

“I’ll be right back, Birdie.”

Brian remembers that name! He always felt it in his stomach every time they said it. _They? _A pleasant tightness. Not like the tightness in his chest now.

Freddie doesn’t leave the room, instead he goes towards the sink in the corner. Brian takes the moment to look at who is holding is second hand. Blond hair spills over its owner’s back and his nose is crinkled. His hand is placed loosely over Brian’s wrist rather than his hand, but there isn’t any strength to his grip.

_Roger. _The name curls around him.

Brian watches Roger breathe for a few moments. Deep and even and not disturbed. He seems relaxed. Freddie had been tense or perhaps he had been closer to waking than Roger had been.

“Here you are,” Freddie holds out the glass.

Brian holds it with his free hand. The weight of the cup makes it shake, but Freddie steadies it and helps guide it to his lips. What he is allowed to drink is very little despite the glass being filled. The water coats his throat and only confirms that he had swallowed dust or sand because he can no longer feel the graininess.

“Better?”

He supposes he is. The grittiness is gone and the context of where he is makes him feel better even if he doesn’t know everything. For now, Brian figures that he is among friends – and then he wonders why he would be concerned that he isn’t.

“Get some rest, darling.”

Freddie sets the glass down with a final click. Brian doesn’t fight the hand pushing him back to the bed and he closes his eyes.

This time the void doesn’t take him.

* * *

He is sitting cross-legged on the grass. The green is tinted blue by the late-night sky. A book open next to him and a tiny hint of salt in the air tells him that he is by the sea. Brian looks around and notices a tiny spinning crystal. Carefully he stands and approaches it.

The crystal hums as he nears it. He extends his hand when he feels something behind him.

It’s Freddie.

But… not Freddie.

“This is what I could find,” Freddie says.

Brian narrows his eyes and Freddie’s hair grows gray in front of him, his lithe form turning feminine. He steps away from the strangeness and tilts head. The crystal brightens and then dims into a four-point star. In it, he can see figures moving, but they look like shadow puppets.

He looks back at Freddie who has picked up his book. Brian frowns. The book he had been reading has no title and the pages appear blank, but he knows that he had been enjoying it.

“I don’t know what I captured,” Freddie tosses the book to the side, “I can only pray that it is enough for you to know.”

“Know?” Brian echoes.

“Freddie and Roger?” Freddie says.

“Yes. Their names.”

He looks down at the grass and gasps. Where he is standing has turned into a circle of brown. Underneath his feet is nothing but gray cracked ground, and he sees that the rest of the grass is slowly turning brown.

Freddie flicks something off of his shoulder, “but who are they?”

Brian opens his mouth he _knows _who they are. They’re – he knows that Freddie – well Roger… “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t linger in this place any longer. I’ve done what I can. Touch it.”

The crystal floats up to eye level but the figures inside aren’t any more defined, but colors are radiating out from behind them. Brian lifts a hand and taps on a point of the crystal it spins are glows bright purple. He lifts his arms to shield himself.

* * *

Brian stares up at the ceiling and he is getting tired of waking up like this. He could at least roll onto his side during the night, stare at the walls. With a long sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to put things together again.

“Brimi!” Freddie says.

He opens his eyes and stares at Freddie. The time when he looks at him, there is a low spark of fondness. They… love each other. Brian parts his lips trying to put things into words. Freddie is better with emotions than he is.

“Wha?”

The second voice startles him but he looks down and sees Roger swiping his sleeve over his eyes while fighting a yawn. His eyes are glazed over and he wipes his eyes again after smacking his lips twice.

Brian feels the strange urge to laugh.

Roger looks up at him, blue eyes glossy and slowly coming into focus. Brian flushes when the haziness evaporates.

“Brian…” The words sound strange on Roger’s tongue.

Then Roger is pressing his lips to Brian’s and he can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around Roger’s shoulders. The kiss only lasts a heartbeat – the second one is slower it is no longer alternating beats but once every three of the stronger one.

“Hi,” Roger says when he pulls away, “hello.”

Brian blinks and drags his hand down Roger’s shoulder feeling the slight roughness of the denim jacket. He knows Roger loves sleeping in soft clothes and rarely anything with sleeves which means whatever happened is bad if it makes Roger change his preferences so greatly.

“Hey,” Brian manages.

It is weak and barely louder than a breath but Roger looks at him like he had sung the greatest melody ever created. Even Freddie takes in a deep breath and Brian glances over to him.

One of them is missing. He looks away from Freddie and towards the door, digging around in his foggy brain to try and remember who it is that they’re missing. Brian sits up a little and uses his free hand to support his now aching head. He presses his eyes tightly together and gives up the search for now in favor of taking the glass of water offered to him.

“Easy Bri,” Roger coos, “take it slowly, yeah?”

Brian sips the water three times before handing it back to Freddie, his stomach is strangely unsettled and the pain in his head is making it hard to focus on anything.

“How are you doing?” Freddie leans into his field of vision.

“Uh…” Brian grasps blindly for the words.

Roger shakes his head, “let him come to us, Fred.”

Freddie pouts.

“I know…”

Brian huffs. He _is _right in front of them and he does understand what they’re saying – even if the context escapes him.

“Er…” Brian twists his mouth.

He wants to know the answers but he doesn’t know what questions to ask.

“Don’t push yourself,” Roger replies.

He isn’t pushing himself. Truly he isn’t – he is too confused to know what questions he needs to ask and how he is supposed to feel. Brian knows he isn’t a fan of Roger’s need to coddle him – but he can let it go for now because he knows something has shaken his lovers.

Right. He was in love with them. One more. Brian narrows his eyes.

“Bri?”

He gestures vaguely, “everything is…jumbled.”

Roger reaches up to soothe his curls, “yeah, we figured that might be the case, love.”

Freddie pats his face.

“Where is…” Brian scrambles for the name. Every time he feels like he is getting close to it the further away it gets.

“We are at my uncle’s clinic,” Roger smiles privately, “in London.”

That was not what he was asking but it is comforting to know. A clinic should mean that something happened to his health which makes sense with everything else he knows – but he would also agree that he was abducted by aliens at this stage.

“You’ve been out for quite a bit of time,” Freddie says softly.

Brian stares at him.

“Just over two weeks,” Roger adds.

Brian hums.

He looks around the room and notices that there appears to be a foot on the couch. Roger follows his gaze and his mouth twists and his nose wrinkles.

“John,” he calls.

_Ah. _He thinks. _John sounds right._

There is a small grunt and then the socked foot flexes outward. Brian watches it and then it disappears to be replaced with a shaggy head of hair. John rubs a hand down his face, digging his fingers into his cheeks before slapping them gently.

Something stirs in his stomach. Brian swallows and holds his breath for as long as the oxygen allows for.

It is easy to see when John’s eyes land on him. The shadowed eyes widen and John slaps himself a little harder and then pulls himself into a standing position. Roger sends him another look before shuffling over to Freddie and pressing against his side. Brian looks between then and frowns deeply.

That’s strange. He knows it deep in his gut. Roger and John _love _each other. They’re as close as can be. Brian faintly remembers arguments building between them in the past months, but he didn’t think that it was putting any strain on their relationship. He runs a hand down the front of his hospital gown. Now that he is thinking about it – as much as his fuzzy brain will allow – he doesn’t think that he had been paying his partners much attention.

He had been angry. Hurt.

_Why?_

“Brian,” John calls.

His eyes snap to his face. The cheeks are sunken in and instead of laugh lines around his eyes they look like they have been replaced by frown lines. Brian prays that it hadn’t been because of whatever happened between Roger and John. Or that it wasn’t entirely Brian’s fault.

“How are you?”

Brian shrugs, “confused.”

John runs a hand through his hair, “I’m sure. We’ll explain everything, soon. Promise.”

He nods and sinks back against the pillow. The urge to know is on the tip of his tongue. Brian can demand answers and he is sure that they would respect them but he feels heaviness pull at his eyes again and his brain gets fuzzier. Holding onto a thought is proving to be a challenge.

Freddie squeezes his shoulder, “get some rest love.”

* * *

Frankly, Brian is getting tired of his days being filled with waking up and going to sleep. He has so many questions and it feels like each time he wakes up he only has more. Although he is grateful for the dreams. Each night gives him more context, but even he has enough awareness that some things aren’t making sense.

And the only way to fill in the blanks is his partners, who haven’t suggested that they have a better idea than where Brian is and how long he has been here.

Today, when he finally works up the energy to build up the courage to open his eyes he is greeted with a stranger. Brian tilts his head. The doctor doesn’t feel familiar but he resembles Roger. Messy blond hair and blue eyes – although they are shades away from Roger’s striking color.

“Ah,” the man says, “I was wondering when you’d wake up with me.”

Brian grunts and with the man’s help he can sit up. The trembling in his frame is lessened but his chest still feels odd. He at the man who seems to be warming his stethoscope between his hands.

“Er…” Brian clears his throat.

“Yes?”

He bites on his bottom lip, “sorry… I can’t seem to remember your name.”

The man only smiles slightly, there is a sad curl to his lips, “that’s alright lad. Most just call me Doctor Taylor. I’m Roger’s uncle.”

That explains the resemblance at least.

“Right,” Brian says.

The name should mean something to him he thinks, but unlike with John and Roger and Freddie, he doesn’t feel anything. It is just a man with a name. Brian blinks and shakes his head.

“I don’t know why I’m here?” Brian asks slowly, it’s a question he hasn’t tried with the others because he doesn’t trust how accurate they’ll be.

Which he supposes is strange if they are his lovers. Brian lifts a finger and starts to chew on a hangnail. He wishes more of his life was clearer to him.

“What the last thing you remember?” Doctor Taylor asks.

He hums and narrows his eyes. The last tangible thing… had he called Tim? That sounds right. But who is Tim? Why was he calling him? But then he had met his partners in the living room but for some reason, he feels as though he was separated by a glass wall.

“I think… I was on the phone with someone.”

Brian winces when the doctor jumps slightly. How long had he been trying to puzzle it out? He might need to start paying attention to a clock because it felt like only seconds.

“Okay,” Doctor Taylor reaches for a blood pressure cuff, “I can’t say as though I have the full story but it seems like dealing with the paranormal got you into more trouble than anyone would have guessed.”

“Ghosts?” Brian blinks, “like ‘boo’ ghosts?”

“I wish they hadn’t tried that to weaken ghosts, it just made them mad,” Doctor Taylor mumbles, and then speaks louder, “not quite. These were… evil ghosts and spirits. A demon.”  
Brian shakes his head, “they aren’t real.”

Doctor Taylor pats his shoulder. Brian wrinkles his nose at the patronizing action but remains quiet as he gets his blood pressure taken. The doctor pauses and lets the air out before redoing it.

“Brian, how does your chest feel?”

“Tight?” He shrugs, “like it is crowded.”

“I see,” Doctor Taylor nods.

“See what? Am I going to be alright?”

“In time, I think. I don’t think it's life-threatening but I am going to have to do some research.”

Brian huffs, “can I please get a straight answer. I know I’m not really…”

He spins his hand, “but this is my body.”

Doctor Taylor clears his throat, “yes. I suppose you’re right, but you’ll have to believe what I say is the truth.”

“Uh… is this about the ghosts again?” Brian raises a brow.

“It is,” Doctor Taylor nods, “I promise that you’ll have to trust me on this.”

Brian leans away from him and screws his face up. He watches the man but he doesn’t know what he would be watching – so far as he is aware liars rarely let you know that they’re lying.

“Why should I trust you?” Brian asks, “you’re a doctor, that’s what you tell me but I don’t know and you want me to believe in children’s horror stories?”

Doctor Taylor raises his hand, “you asked.”

He snorts, “I asked what happened – and you’re going to tell me what? I was possessed?”

“Cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“That’s the best guess I can make.”

Brian shakes his head and leans forward pressing his palms to his eyes. This isn’t happening. None of this makes sense. He supposes it’s possible that he ended up tweaking on drugs he didn’t know he consumed which is why they took him to a quack doctor and he hallucinated ghosts. _That _he knows he does.

“I’m not lying,” Doctor Taylor says.

“Sure,” Brian shrugs.

They don’t talk much after that. Brian doesn’t want to know if the answer is going to be ghosts and curses. It’s much safer to assume that he was hallucinating and was somehow ODing. It seems weird for dealers to waste their products like that. Much better to make money on someone who is going to enjoy it.

He jumps when the door opens. Doctor Taylor is gone, as well as any sign that he had been in the room – save for a pen that he left on the side table. Brian is grateful that he didn’t imagine Roger’s uncle.

“Ain…”  
He flicks his eyes up and meets Roger’s eyes who is watching him with a frown.

“You alright, mate? Seemed a bit,” Roger shrugs, “out of it.”

Brian offers a shrug in return, “not sure what to think. Your uncle tells me it was ghosts and curses and he wants me to trust him.”

Roger sits on the edge of the bed and grabs his hands, holding them to his chest gently, his gaze doesn’t leave Brian’s.

“Then trust us,” Roger says, “that’s what happened – and we explained everything – but you probably don’t remember.”

He pulls his hands away, “ah yes. It’s my fault for not remembering it.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Roger sighs, “sorry. This… world… is what John, Freddie, and I grew up in. Ghosts and curses are very real. Magic is real. And we should have explained that to you.”

Brian tilts his head.

“I… understand why John wanted to, why Freddie did. But knowledge is powerful, and I thought that by not knowing, it would save you long enough for us to give a proper explanation.”

“And I’m sorry,” Roger sighs.

He looks away for a second, staring at the wall and trying to process what Roger said. Trusting Roger feels easier – but then if what he says is true. He shakes his head, there is no reason to go down that path for the moment. Brian doesn’t know the truth in that situation.

He licks his lips and weighs his words before uncurling his fists, “Roger…”

Roger looks up with bright eyes.

“I... think I should trust you…” Brian says slowly, “and I think I should love you but I don’t… feel in love with you.”

“Brian?” The voice almost breaks.

“I don’t know.”

Brian shakes his head hard. Biting down on his lip, his teeth biting down hard, bruising them. He feels a burn in the back of his eyes. He shakes his head harder hoping that it will spring it free from the haziness he feels.

“I don’t know. I don’t understand. I don’t!”

“Hey, Bri,” Roger stands up extending his arms forward.

“I _know _all of these things. Your names. That I love you. But I do not feel any of it. All my memories are hazy at best and my chest feels too tight and,” Brian sobs, “I don’t get it! And you all expect me to trust you as though I know you and – I think that I know you, but I don’t feel that we’re lovers! I don’t feel in love with you.”

Roger has taken a step back, his mouth open and eyes wide.

“Brian?”

“I just want things to make sense!”

He bites down on his cheek, “I don’t want it to be ghosts and curses and everything. I don’t know that it is real but I don’t know that it is fake and I hate it and I hate that I don’t know how to feel but everyone is saying how I should feel and what I should know.”

“Breathe,” Roger says slowly, “Bri you aren’t breathing.”

He takes a gasping inhale of air.

“And let it out.”

He does.

Brian isn’t sure how long Roger coaxes him through calming down but the tremors lesson and the tightness in his chest goes back to feeling tolerable. Roger is keeping a good distance between them. He doesn’t like that Roger looks like that but he doesn’t know how to place his face – devastation or anger? It would be fair, he thinks, if Roger was angry considering what Brian just spilled to him.

“We’ll figure this out Bri,” Roger says, “it might take time to figure out what’s wrong or maybe it won’t and we’ll have to adjust – but you won’t be alone Bri.”

“And if I can never feel love again?”

Roger quirks his lips, “that’s impossible, Bri, you have the biggest heart that I know. You’ll feel love again.”

“If I don’t love you – once this is over?” Brian frowns and furrows his brows.

The words don’t sound right to him but they also don’t sound wrong. He knows that he loves them, so why wouldn’t he a second time? Unless whatever they did before everything was _that _bad – but what if he doesn’t remember it being that bad and he still falls in love with them and figures it out years down the road?

“Brian,” Roger calls softly, “breathe. Just breathe for now.”

He does and looks at Roger with watery eyes.

“You keep breathing and the world will keep spinning and we’ll get answers.”

Brian purses his lips, “okay. I can do that.”

* * *

He likes it when he wakes up at night the best. Brian isn’t surprised to find that Roger is staying away after their confrontation? Moment? Whatever it was the other day. It also seems that he told John and Freddie because they’re both more cautious with him and Doctor Taylor has only been professional with him.

But when wakes up at night he can get breathing space. John and Freddie still sleep in his room but they sleep crowded on the couch on the other side of the room. Tonight though – tonight he is going to see the stars. Slowly he slips out of his bed. His legs trembling slightly with disuse, but he has started getting out of bed as he gets stronger and the oxygen no longer keeps him locked to the bed.

Brian quietly pads past the two sleeping companions and to the hallway. He knows that he probably isn’t dressed for the outdoors, barefoot and in a pair of ratty pants and a threadbare t-shirt. The door creaks and instead of waiting to see if it woke anyone up he slips out and shuts it behind him with a soft _click. _

The hallway is even colder than his room and looks identical in either direction, and there is no signage.

“Well,” Brian shrugs and begins walking.

He keeps his hand on the wall in case his body isn’t ready for such a long walk, but he doesn’t feel tired – still heavy but every time he focuses on the sensation it’s like it is crawling at his skin and bursting to get out. Brian wonders if he remembers the floating sensation from his dreams and that’s what he wants to create.

Maybe it’ll pass. Roger had told him that it might take time. Brian figures that months compared to the weeks that he has spent here means nothing in the scheme of things considering this is the clearest part of his memory.

He finds a larger room with uncomfortable plastic chairs. There is a desk with a bell and a door that seems to lead to the outside. Brian hums. This must be the reception area – and then lifts his thumb to bite at it. His feet feel like they’ve been here before.

Brian pushes open the door, happy to see that it isn’t locked. Which is strange. Clinics shouldn’t be so careless with their doors. Then shrugs, it isn’t his problem.

The concrete is colder than the tile when he steps out. His head craning back to look at the blackness of the sky. Disappointment swirls in his stomach when the brightest celestial body he can find is the moon. Waning Gibbous.

He isn’t sure how he knows that.

Brian pulls the shirt closer to his body and peaks around the side of the building he is nearest to. It is an alley. A passing car’s headlights brighten everything as it passes and he jumps at the flicker of six pairs of yellow eyes.

“Stray cats?” He asks out loud when he doesn’t get answering mewl he crouches.

“Psst psst psst,” he calls, clicking his tongue when his first noise doesn’t seem to beckon them.

A few minutes after he calls one cat appears out of the shadows. It is surprisingly well-groomed for being a stray. The white fur is near pristine and it looks well fed. It sits and licks its paw, which is how Brian hears the jingle of the collar bell.

“Ah, you’re someone’s pet, are you lost kitty?”

The cat stops grooming itself and blinks at him, almost looking offended. It lifts its head and then stands before flicking its tail.

“Sorry?” Brian asks quietly.

The cat flicks its tail again before disappearing down the alleyway. Brian blinks, unsure of what he should make of it. He lets his hands dangle between his legs and frowns. Had he offended it? Was it Doctor Taylor’s cat? Brian stands back up again and rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh.”

He spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet, only to calm down once he sees Roger leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his fingers. Roger takes a drag of it and blows it away from him.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I was never told I couldn’t leave.”

Roger cocks his head, dropping his cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out with his house shoes. Brian bites back a laugh because they’re bright pink and have hearts embroidered on them.

“Couldn’t find yours?” Brian asks.

“They’re comfy,” Roger lifts a shoulder, “but I didn’t say you couldn’t be out here I asked what you were doing.”

Brian lifts his eyes to the sky, “I missed the stars, thought I’d be able to see more.”

“You remember loving the stars?”

“No,” Brian chews on his tongue for a moment, “they feel… it feels like I was at home with them?”

He sees Roger’s eyes darken before all traces of emotion were wiped off his face. Strangely Roger sighs and sags against the building, pulling out a packet of cigarettes only to wrinkle his nose when he finds that they’re empty. He tosses it towards the bin on the other side of the sidewalk, but the cardboard clatters against it and falls to the ground.

Brian frowns.

“We’re in a right mess.”

He hums, a mess seems accurate, “are you going to pick that up?”

Roger lifts a brow but then picks it up when Brian crosses his arms.

“Do you…” Brian shoves his hands in his pants pocket, “want to go get more with me?”

“Aren’t I the one meant to be asking you that?”

“Would you?”

“Are you going to put shoes on?”

Brian’s lips curl up slightly, “dunno, do I have any?”

“Your clogs,” Roger looks as though he swallowed the filter to one of his cigarettes as he says it, “come with me.”

He almost doesn’t. Roger might make it so that Brian can’t get out and do something so thrilling as going to a quick stop – if one is open at this time of night. Roger lets him wait in the waiting room when Brian doesn’t want to follow him. Instead, he stares at the cheap wall art. He wonders if they’re meant to be trees.

“Here,” Roger extends a pair of wooden shoes.

Brian takes them and stares at them, he wore these? They are… sort of ugly. With a shrug he sets them on the ground and stepping into them. He doesn’t feel like he is going to step out of them when he walks and he nods to Roger to lead the way. Roger shoves his hands into his pockets and walks at a sedate pace.

He shivers once they get a few meters away from the clinic and looks up to the stars. Some clouds have passed and he can see a few more twinkling beings but not as many as he would like. Roger’s gaze is also upward but his eyes are narrowed.

“Is something wrong?” Brian asks, increasing his pace to walk alongside Roger.

“No, just can’t see the sky very well,” Roger tosses his hair, “bad eyesight.”

“Ah. I see.”

Roger’s smile grows brighter, “I don’t.”

Brian huffs before looking back at the sky. Roger has to grab his arm a few times to stop him from wandering out into the crosswalk without paying attention if there was a car coming. It is late enough that there have only been a handful but he accepts Roger’s watchfulness.

“Hey,” Roger says after a time.

He tears his eyes away from the sky to see what Roger wants. They’re in a public square. There is a fountain that isn’t spewing water and the buildings surrounding the area are completely dark. Brian thinks they must be in a residential area for everything to be so boarded up or it is just that late.

“This is where we first met.”

Brian looks at Roger with a frown before looking around the square. There isn’t a sense of familiarity to it, but he doesn’t think Roger would lie about this.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Roger nods and extends his hand.

He takes it and gets dragged to the fountain. Roger sits down and then pats the granite next to him. Brian crosses his legs as he sits and leans back, his gaze drawn back to the stars.

“I think a banshee attacked you,” Roger answers, “but I only saw you freaking out and falling into the pool. And I wanted to help you but then I saw you and thought I had to get to know you.”

Roger sounds soft. Fond.

“You must cherish that memory,” Brian answers.

“I suppose,” Roger shrugs tossing his hair again, “probably because I can think about that day and see all the good it brought us. It brought us you.”

Brian finally looks at Roger. _Looks _at him. His blond hair is bright in the moonlight and his eyes are almost glowing. He looks ethereal, as though he shouldn’t be mortal. His nose is wrinkled with his smile which crinkles his eyes and the tip of his tongue pokes out between his teeth.

He swallows, but Roger leans forward resting one elbow on each knee. Just like that the smile is gone.

“And it’s odd,” Roger replies, “because I can see all the hints line up that I shouldn’t have gotten involved but if I didn’t you’d be dead. I wouldn’t love you which means I wouldn’t be hurting.”

Roger sighs, “but I don’t want that world where I don’t love you.”

“Roger,” Brian says softly, “you said we’d figure this out.”

“Oh. I’m not giving up,” Roger looks at him, “but I have to remind myself these days that you’re my Brimi. My little Birdie.”

Brian tilts his head at the nicknames and then looks away from Roger before he starts feeling that strangeness in his chest that he felt when looking at Freddie. Briefly, he wonders why John hasn’t spent much time with him since he “woke up.”

“Do you still want to buy those cigarettes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian is on the mend! There are still discussions to be had and questions answered, but hey, Brian is not a Soul Slurpee now.
> 
> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me om Tumblr!!


	18. What lets you fix a broken bone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'mmm baaaaack  
slowly getting through this!

They return near dawn, with Roger stink++ing heavily of smoke and his new pack already half gone.

“You couldn’t have left a note?” Freddie shrieks when they walk back into Brian’s room.

Brian covers his ears, but another outburst doesn’t come. He looks up but Freddie is staring at Roger with his arms crossed, there is a small frown on his face.

“Didn’t think I would need to.”

Freddie purses his lips, “you do. When everything is so… and you had Brian with you. Which I didn’t know.”

“He is an adult.”

“He was in a _coma_.”

“Trying to control him is how we got into this mess,” Roger shrugs.

Brian tilts his head, Roger’s tone is… off. Freddie is staring at the blond oddly.

“We weren’t trying to – what has gotten into you?”

Roger scowls. He spins on his heel and leaves the room. The door slams. Both Freddie and Brian jump. Brian blinks and takes a step toward the door.

“Don’t,” Freddie shakes his head, “if there was a reason to be had with him, I would have found it already.”

Brian hugs his arms to his chest, “is it because I don’t remember?”

Freddie pulls his hand back to himself, “No! Well, not entirely, if I’m being honest. It’s more like _everything.”_

“That’s a lot to be mad at,” Brian says.

“He doesn’t know what he needs to be mad at,” Freddie stares at the door and swallows thickly, “himself, you, us, the world, or magic… so he chooses it all.”

“I wish I could help.”

“You’re alive.” 

Freddie’s voice is soft and strong. The words are as heavy as Brian feels. Somehow, he thinks those words are meant to _mean _something.

“I’m tired,” Brian says, “do you mind if?”

“Yes.”

Brian tilts his head.

“No. I mean,” Freddie sucks in a deep breath, “take a rest. We have tomorrow.”

There is an awkward silence as Brian crawls onto the firm mattress. It squeaks. Brian grumbles as he pulls the scratchy blanket to his chin.

“When can we leave here?”

“John has gone ahead to organize the house. Soon my dear.”

“Freddie?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

Brian shrugs but he felt that he had to apologize.

* * *

Brian sits on the couch in the living room. It is odd. The walls and windows aren’t unfamiliar to him, but it doesn’t feel like a home. He can see himself in the photos and the books about space, but nothing is connecting him to them.

He nudges an old tome with his foot. Part of his discontent, he thinks may come from the fact that he does not have any idea what these sigils and words mean that are hanging from the walls or scattered around in books.

The door to one of the bedrooms opens. Brian strains his hearing to see if he can tell which one it is John’s timid steps or Roger’s stomps. He cannot hear where the other is going so he slides down in the couch and crosses his arms. John then.

“Don’t mind them,” Freddie says for what feels like the eighth time in two days.

Brian shakes his head, “was this how it has always been?”

“No...” Freddie stares down the hallway, “we used to act like we loved each other.”

“I see,” Brian sips at his tea Freddie hands him.

He grimaces at the strong taste, there was nothing mixed in unsure of what he had usually taken in his tea. Brian does not know that he would like what he used to.

Freddie raises an eyebrow at him. Brian sips it again and sticks out his tongue.

“I know how you like your tea,” Freddie says.

Brian offers the cup, “thank you.”

Freddie sets his own on the side table, off the coaster, and takes his back to the kitchen. Brian waits a second before moving it onto the cork before it leaves rings on the wood. He grabs a biscuit from the plate that had been left there since last night probably, and he bends it. In its staleness, it rips instead of cracks.

He rips apart a half of the biscuit again and stares at the cover on one of the thick books. One has an image of stars, and one seems to have for lines of light emanating from it.

_This is what I could find. _

Find what? Why had finding that crystal made him more… him? The two are connected, but how?

The cup is hovering in front of his face. Brian blinks and follows the fingers up to Freddie’s face. He nervously sweeps the crumbs from his shirt before setting the pieces back on the plate, making sure they don’t touch the other ones.

“Thank you,” he takes the warm cup and drinks.

His eyes widen; the previously bitter tea is buried under sweet creaminess.

“Two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk.”

“Thank you,” he says again.

They sit quietly and slowly drink their tea. Freddie mostly spins his tea with a finger, the spoon moving without any touch from him. Brian watches in fascination.

A door slams and is followed by stomping that belongs to one Roger Taylor. They hear several more crashes before a blond head appears in the kitchen.

“Be nice to the _ancient and irreplaceable _books, would you darling? It isn’t their fault they don’t have answers to questions that don’t exist.”

“Sorry,” Roger mumbles, before offering a tiny but strained smile at Brian, “hello.”

Brian looks down at his tea. This Roger is so different from the hopeful one at the fountain. Whatever he is looking for is taking on a toll on him – or maybe it is whatever argument he has with John. They hear quiet chaos in the kitchen.

“Oh, and apologize to the books?”

Roger waves a pot of coffee above his head as he vanishes as quickly as he arrived.

“It will get cold,” Brian says quietly.

Freddie sucks on his bottom lip, “he won’t leave anything he is drinking out of his sight, won’t drink anything he hasn’t seen made.”

Brian sets his cup down, “that’s different?”

“Yes.”

He looks at the tome next to him. The ink is so old that it seems to be flaking from the pages, but Brian is certain that the language isn’t English either but written in the margins is the phrase   
_possesso di demone _which he can guess the meaning of.

“You know…”

Brian looks away from the book, “yes?”

“We have a project that we’ve never gotten around to.”

“Oh?”

“I think it is time that we do.”

Freddie finishes off his tea before standing up. Brian wraps both of his hands around his cup before trailing Freddie as he leaves the living room. He shuffles along looking at the walls and trying to gain some feeling from them.

“Ah,” Freddie says when they come to another door.

Brian hasn’t had a reason to enter this room yet, but already he can tell that this is some craft room. There is paint on the dark wood of the door and the handle and strangely some on the wall as well. Higher than one would think.

Freddie opens the door, and Brian is proven correct. There is a table filled with paints and charcoal and pencils that look as though they are one heavy breath from toppling over. He sees some paintings drying on a metal rack. Brian wanders over to them, careful to not ruin the artistry.

It is the four of them on a beach. Their faces aren’t distinct, but it looks like Freddie has shorter hair and John’s is growing up and not down. Roger seems to be laying back on a towel, he assumes that he is the dark blob in the water. Brian looks away.

“You painted this?”

“Yes,” Freddie shrugs, “sometimes my visions are too compelling to not paint or I paint something without knowing I’m having a vision.”

Brian steps away from them, “like… the future?”

“One version of it, sometimes I feel as though it’s the version that I would most prefer. Growing old with you four… that is the best end to this life I can imagine.

“What was the project?” Brian asks instead, ignoring the slight twinges in his chest.

He doesn’t know much but he is certain that his artistic skills are limited to diagrams of celestial bodies.

Freddie bends down and rummages around in a storage tub before pulling out a flaking child’s lamp. Brian feels a surge of electricity run down his spine.

“This is mine. It was in my bedroom as a child,” Brian says.

“Yes,” Freddie smiles, “you said you wanted me to restore it, but I think it would be more fun if we created something new?”

Brian looks at the lamp. Not much of the original design remains, he can see that it was meant to be the night sky, blue with cartoonish five-point stars, and perhaps a rocket ship if he had to guess why there was orange. This lamp was something that had been his before everything – but Brian wonders if he will ever be that same person again.

“Something new sounds wonderful.”

Freddie sets it down on the table, “what shall it be?”

“I want the stars again,” Brian says, and he moves to a stool by the workbench, “but the _actual _stars… I liked the constellation Orion, didn’t I? Well doesn’t matter, that’s one of the ones I want.”

He watches Freddie pull a piece of paper towards him, “not that it matters, but yes, Orion is your favorite – was your favorite.”

“Well, we should primer it first at least, can you grab that can to your left?”

Brian turns around and sees the can helpfully labeled **_Primer _**_do not touch unless your name is Freddie. _He grabs it with a tiny laugh.

“Roger thought it was white paint and used a lot of it on… something, and it ended up chipping rather quickly.”

“I see.”

“John thought it was best to make sure it didn’t happen again or to make fun of Roger. I’m not entirely sure.”

“They used to get along?”

Freddie sighs and sets the paint down, “as I said, we used to act like we loved each other. But! Let’s not talk about such dark things now.”

Brian doesn’t know what else he _can _talk about, “er. Tell me about our cats?

Freddie clicks open the lid and squirts a generous amount on a piece of plastic before dipping a brush into it, “They’re called familiars.”

* * *

Brian stares at the smear of navy paint along Freddie’s cheek. He had scratched his face when his hands were covered in paint. Freddie doesn’t seem to know or mind it, but Brian has been staring at it for what he thinks must be hours. Freddie has nearly finished the constellations by now.

They had settled on three. Orion, Cancer, and Circinus. Brian had liked how it fit along the lamp base, but he asks it for it to live up to its name.

“And that’s why John won’t eat fruit pies anymore,” Freddie concludes.

He blinks and clears his throat, “er… sorry.”

Freddie smiles gently as he cleans his brushes in the near-black water. Brian watches the fluid swirl after he takes them out. The flecks of paint slowly start to separate, and he watches the patterns wondering if there was some way to gain meaning from the fluid. They do tea leaf readings he thinks, maybe paint chips work the same way.

“It’s alright, I’ve talked your ear off.”

Brian scratches his neck.

Freddie turns around to the basin, which must work as a sink, to rinse the brushes off with clean water.

“I…enjoyed it,” he says slowly, “it was…helpful.” _I like how your voice sounds._

“I’m glad,” Freddie turns around.

He hasn’t washed off the stripe of paint. Brian looks away, moving his head so that his curls block his face and his blush. Only he glances through the strands of hair to see that Freddie is staring at him curiously.

“Brian?”

Brian looks around the room before shrugging, “thought I had a sneeze?”

Freddie purses his lips but nods, “you kept telling me to clean out this room for a dusting. Well, you told me once, and then would glance at me every time someone mentioned deep cleaning.”

He huffs slightly before turning back to watch Freddie’s back. Brian leans forward, only to pull away when he sets his elbow in a glob of paint.

“Oh,” he murmurs, swiping his thumb through it.

The paint smears up his arm. Brian looks around desperately for something to clean his hand with. He wiggles his fingers but still hasn’t found anything.

Freddie turns around and Brian flails before hiding his messy hand by rubbing his neck and trying to cover the spot on his arm, but he only manages to set it right back in the paint. He feels the grimace before sighing.

“Uh,” Freddie laughs.

It sounds lovely, Brian stares at the dark paint and then clears his throat. What is with his fascination with that stripe of paint? He knows it must feel uncomfortable. His hand is already itchy.

“You’ve got a bit,” Freddie taps the side of his neck.

Brian pulls his hand away, “ah. Yeah. We match now.”

He taps his face where the maddening stripe is on Freddie’s face. Brian watches Freddie try to rub it off, only to smear white and gray onto his face as well. He looks away and finally spots a clean looking towel.

Freddie continues to rub at his face for a moment. Brian grabs the towel and dips a corner of it into the basin before swiping it over the mess on Freddie’s cheek.

“Hold still,” Brian says quietly, “please.”

He runs the lukewarm cloth over the bridge of Freddie’s cheek watching as the paint slowly disappears, but his eyes are slowly being drawn to Freddie’s brown ones, which he wonders if Freddie has blinked at all. Brian’s eyes slip down to his lips, where there is the barest trace of a five-o’clock shadow.

Brian finishes cleaning it as best he can. The remaining paint is too small to worry about with a cloth and rubbing it any more will make the skin raw. He turns to rinse out the rag.

When he turns back around, he feels something soft and moist on his lips. For a moment he is unsure of what is happening, but he has to go cross-eyed to see Freddie. Lips against his? Freddie is kissing him? Brian grabs onto the fabric, accidentally pulling Freddie closer before pushing him away.

Brian backs away, his hip hitting the table and bumping it, but his eyes don’t leave Freddie’s. He prods his slightly swollen lips and furrows his brow. Roger’s kiss had been frantic relief, but this one felt sweeter.

“Brian! I’m so sorry, I just,” Freddie makes a frustrated noise, “I didn’t mean to kiss you, I just did. You looked like at me like you used to and my body did what it’s used to doing. Which isn’t an excuse I know…”

He clears his throat and shoves his hands in his pockets and looks towards the door. Brian doesn’t want to leave – the kiss had felt pleasant. It had been nice being with Freddie just watching him paint. He shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs.

“I’m so sorry Brian.”

Brian glances at Freddie again who looks as though he is going to be sick. He smacks his lips together and searches his tongue for the words.

“No,” Brian starts and then waves his hand, “we were…are like that?”

“Brian, I love you deeply, but none of us are in the place to…” Freddie spins his hand, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m rejecting you,” Brian shrugs, “but I told you, I don’t feel anything right now.”

“Right. Sorry. I don’t want to pressure you, and it wouldn’t be fair with how you are currently,” Freddie shakes his head.

Brian narrows his eyes, this conversation isn’t going the way he wants it to, “yeah, you’re right. None of us are in the place.”

Freddie lets out a shaky breath and looks at the table, “shit.”

He turns to see that the paint water has spilled across the base of the lamp and splashed up the side. Some of the paint is running, but in some places, it looks like it is staining. Brian doesn’t know that water can stain.

“Ah, well,” Freddie clicks his tongue, “why don’t you go see if there’s anything in the kitchen for dinner, I’ll clean this up.”

Brian wrinkles his nose. That seems like a bad idea, the twin thumps in his chest feel like they’re pulling him two different ways. He wants to kiss Freddie again, but that would be unwelcomed.

“Sure. I might just order take-out,” Brian says instead, “I don’t know that I trust myself in the kitchen.”

“That sounds lovely. John put stars by all our favorites. Not that anyone has been picky these days.”

“Right.”

Brian moves out of the craft room. His stomach flips and his throat tightens. He leans against the wall wondering if he is going to drop to the ground. It feels like when he was trying to wake up at the clinic.

When the world steadies he continues to the kitchen. He had said he would order take-out, but he doesn’t know where the menus are. Brian wanders around the kitchen, looking at the coffee machine, the pot has been cleaned and replaced. There are a few more plates in the sink too that weren’t there when he and Freddie went to the other room.

People live here. They live with other people. Brian tilts his head, _it is like living with shadows._ He opens a cupboard and knocks a cup from the counter when papers come falling out. The cup bounces and rolls to a stop by the rubbish bin.

He kneels and picks up the papers. They’re all folded nicely, turning one around he sees that he is holding a collection of take-out menus.

“Huh,” he murmurs.

Brian knows that he did not know where these were, and yet they tumble out of the first one he opens. He licks his lips, remembering how they molded themselves to Freddie’s. The kiss had left him with a tingly feeling.

“It seems my body remembers,” Brian says to the plastic cup.

* * *

He doesn’t know what he is expecting. Brian calls out the food’s arrival, but there is not a rush to grab any of the white boxes. His own order is transferred to a plate and halfway gone before he calls again.

The cup he still hasn’t bothered to pick up seems to be mocking him and he kicks it, only for it to circle around its base and rests where it had been.

“I don’t much care for peppers,” Brian says, holding up a sliced red one, “This felt like my order though.”

He had gagged at the thought of eating the spicy dish but it is possible that the prawn dish was his and he knows that he didn’t have the appetite to eat an entire plate chicken curry and the bread that came with it. Which left him with mushrooms and more peppers than he could care for.

Brian scrapes his plate off. He leaves it in the sink to soak before he sighs and rolls up his half-sleeves. He catches a glimpse of navy and looks to where he knows Freddie is. Something about the image of Freddie frantically restoring what work he had ruined makes both of his heartbeats twist, but he knows that for the rest of tonight he would be unwelcome.

It is possible he could coax Roger and John from their rooms, force them to eat mostly warm food. Brian looks at the set table, three places still untouched, and shakes his head. They can get cold food. He had tried.

“I think mum always said that clean dishes fix a broken marriage,” Brian murmurs to the cup.

It doesn’t move and he kicks at it again. This time it goes skittering across the kitchen before popping up as it hits the slight ledge to the hallway.

Brian pours in more soap. The bubbles froth and he spins the brush in it before scrapping at the mess of sauce on his. The other two only seem to have breadcrumbs on them. He sighs at the large collection of coffee mugs and teacups. They are all stained brown, and he spends extra time trying to get the residue out.

He has to give up on two and leave them to soak overnight. Brian pulls his now soaked shirt off. The way it was sticking to his stomach was uncomfortable, and he runs a hand down his pale skin. His fingers jump along his ribs.

A cough makes him nearly fling his shirt into the soapy water.

John is watching him, but Brian can’t tell what he is feeling at all. His lips are kept in a neutral line and there is no tick of the eyebrow.

“Sorry,” John says roughly, “you looked like you were concentrating on something. Feel alright?”

Brian half shrugs, “feel fine enough.”

John bends down and picks up the cup that he had been neglecting, and his lips finally quirk up, “is it the cup or the color?”

“Bugger wanted to stay on the floor,” Brian replies moodily, but now that he is looking at it, he doesn’t like that yellow shade.

“I see,” John says.

He sets it into the soapy water. It pops back up and bobbles innocently.

“Thank you for dinner,” John says.

He grabs the prawn dish automatically. Brian lets satisfaction curl in his stomach but, “did I used to like peppers?”

“The red and yellow ones,” John replies as he digs out a fork.

“I don’t anymore.”

“Okay.”

Brian exhales sharply, “that doesn’t bother you?”

John looks up from the cutlery drawer, “why?”

He opens his mouth and closes it. Why would_ John_ care if he suddenly hates peppers?

“It’s a change.”

“True,” John replies, “are you bothered by it?”

“I’m not bothered by anything,” Brian pulls his shirt tight, “and I mean _anything, _I know Freddie is upset and I should be upset that it is sort of my fault but I can’t be bothered to feel.”

“Brian?” John asks.

His spine lights up at his names on John’s tongue.

“Nevermind,” Brian replies, “I hope your food is still warm.”

John looks at his slightly congealed mess of sauce. They both knew that it’s gone cold. Brian looks at the bobbling cup.

“Whenever you couldn’t figure something out, you used to go look at the stars. I don’t know if it solved anything…”

Brian takes the olive branch, “thanks.”

He splashes the cup back in the water as he passes. Before he turns the corner, he watches John push around a sad-looking prawn and watching the cup in the sink.

His shirt is still in his hand and still wet, but he doesn’t want to go to his room because that meant passing everyone else’s hideaways.

Brian heads out the backdoor and finds a patch of grass that is not immediately visible. Roger and he had looked at the stars that first night too when things did not seem like they were trying to prevent the inevitable end. Although, he is kind enough to kick his shoes off so that they _are _visible because Freddie had not liked that disappearing act.

* * *

He watches as the moon takes her slow journey across the sky. It seems like he has a lot in common with her. The same journey night in and night out. Brian has made a pile of clovers that he had been picking apart, there are some hazy memories of tying them together to make a bracelet, but he hadn’t gotten the knots right.

“It seems bad to say that we’re trying to fix you.”

Brian peers up to see that John is leaning against the wall. His hair looks freshly washed and still messy. He picks another clover up to rip.

“Fix me?”

“You aren’t broken,” John says, “not like a bone.”

“But there is… something to change.”

“Maybe.”

Brian looks up at John again before scooting over a few centimeters. He doesn’t know if John saw him and then he goes back to watching the moon.

John joins him a few moments later, “but I think we’re looking for ways to glue a vase together.”

“Bones and vases? No wonder you haven’t found anything, I’m a person.”

John lets out a huff, “I suppose that’s a bit rude too.”

“So if it’s not fixing a broken thing, what is it?”

Brian looks at John. His eyes are trained on the moon, and his hair drips onto the grass. He looks exhausted but not the kind that eight hours of sleep uninterrupted can fix.

“When we figure that out, maybe we’ll have an answer.”

He hums and offers John a clover. John takes it with a tiny frown and then lets out a noise of understanding when he sees the pile that he had been making.

“Maybe you’re looking at the wrong thing to fix,” Brian says.

“You’re the…” John cuts himself off, “what do you mean?”

“I think… that the focus should be on,” Brian searches for the words, “acting like we love each other again.”

Freddie it seems has the best way with words.

“Could be.”

“But you aren’t going to do that are you?”

John shrugs, “can’t.”

Brian sets his clover down in favor of covering John’s hand with his own. It feels strange, warm but cold at the same time. He runs his pointer over the veins.

“Is it because you think this is your fault? Or because you think that making me like I was before is going to fix everything?”

“Yes. Roger hates me also.”

“I see.”

He feels John’s hand touch the back of his before sliding up it and touching his face. Brian rears back, fearing that he is going to have the same thing happen with John that had happened with Freddie. John pulls his hand away and rests it in his lap.

“I’m sorry Brian.”

Brian looks back at the stars, picking out what he thinks are constellations in the bad light pollution. He doesn’t know that he accepts the apology, but he doesn’t know what John is apologizing for. Instead, he crosses his legs and leans forward swiping a few leaves from his pants.

John watches him, his hand is still partly folded in the air between them. Brian looks to the yard, wondering what lives in the garden and what he cannot see. It feels like a mystery even though he is sure there is nothing magical about it. It is just another place to everyone else.

“What are you thinking about, John?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Right now, not what you have been but what is in your head right now?”

“Well, how odd of a question this is,” John huffs.

Brian rolls his eyes, “beyond that.”

“But not too beyond?”

He nods.

John licks his lips and finally picks another clover to rip up, “well I suppose I was wondering when the last time anyone pruned the hedges and how odd it is that I haven’t spent much time out here.”

“Recently or ever?”

“Ever,” John clears his throat, “this is a relatively new house, to us, but we haven’t… done anything around this area.”

“We should have. The neighborhood seems nice, I think.”

“It is.”

Brian sucks on his cheek, wondering how to keep the conversation going. He appreciates that Freddie had happily been his company. John feels like a stranger, someone that he hasn’t met before. What would he have done before? Brian wrinkles his nose, there is no use in trying to figure out what past him wanted to do.

“Want to explore it now?” Brian asks.

“What?”

“Tomorrow,” he says.

“Explore what tomorrow?”

He turns his head and sees the annoyed frown, but John’s brows are furrowed and his eyes dart from side to side as if he is trying to figure out an answer.

“The neighborhood.”

“You want to explore the neighborhood,” John says slowly, his lips move in exaggerated motions as though he is tasting the words.

“Yes.”

“We can’t.”

Brian blows air out of his nose before craning his head back and then letting himself drop to the grass to and holding one hand up to grasp weakly at the moon, “why?”

“Because…” John pauses.

“You said that it’s unfair to fix me. Considering everything, I’m healthy.”

“Ah. So you are.”

“And you all treat me like I will die with the slightest gust of wind.”

“The phrase is be blown over by the wind,” John mumbles.

“Well, I’ll go exploring myself tomorrow.”

* * *

Brian isn’t sure why he is even bothering to wait by the front door. John hadn’t accepted his invitation last night _but he hadn’t rejected it either _he thinks to himself. It’s early in the morning still, late enough that those who have to go to work have already gone but the tourists and others are still preparing for their day.

He knows that with a map he can probably find his way back, but he doesn’t want to risk it. For all that he is an adult, he doesn’t want to add any more stress to the others with him disappearing for hours. Roger had been the only reason Freddie had been so calm about his disappearance the first time.

Soft footsteps pull his gaze away from the window. He sees John in the hallway. His lips are twisted into a strange grimace, but Brian is distracted by the tight black shirt he has one, which is covered by a soft gray jumper. Brian looks down at his attire and feels strangely overdressed in his button-ups and slacks, but this is what mostly is in his closet.

“Did you have a plan?” John asks quietly, his face still has that odd look.

“You don’t have to come,” Brian says, “if it will bother you that much.”

John quickly shakes his head, “no… No, that isn’t it. I’ve been thinking about what you said last night and –”

He doesn’t press what John was going to say, instead, he stands up. His jacket slides onto the floor, “I was thinking that we find a place for breakfast, I think I’d like a pastry.”

“Sure,” John shrugs.

Before Brian can bend down John has already moved his jacket back into his hand, “magic is quite useful.”

“Mm.”

Brian bites his lips. Maybe John isn’t much of a morning person? He slings the jacket over his shoulders but doesn’t put his arms through it.

“Shall we?”

“Mm.”

He checks that he has his wallet before moving to the front door, “I already left a note for the others. We might be back before they read it though.”

John nods.

Brian sucks on his cheek. They walk in silence for several meters. He has a lot of questions to ask John, but he doesn’t know where to start or what would upset him. There is a stray cat ahead of them that looks at them before darting between the buildings.

“Poor thing,” Brian says, “must be lonely. I hope it has someplace warm to stay.”

“Cats are clever.”

He nods.

John doesn’t ask for him to turn so Brian keeps walking straight. He doesn’t know that he is going the right way or if there is even a bakery within walking distance of their house but being outside away from that atmosphere is doing wonders for his mood. His chest doesn’t feel as tight today.

“Who are you avoiding?” Brian says while they wait for the light to cross.

“What?” John furrows his brows and glances at the faces passing them, “no one?”

“Not now. In the house.”

“Ah.”

Brian sways forward wondering what John’s answer will be but the light turns. John steps quickly across it, but Brian can keep up with his strides easily.

“Well?” He says once they are safely across.

“Huh?”

He huffs and looks at the sky. It will probably rain later, the clouds are already building, heavy and gray.

“Why are you hiding in your study? I know Roger is looking for something to _fix _me,” Brian hums, “but are you doing the same?”

“Well yes. I suppose in a way. But I’m looking for answers to figure out what I’ve done.”

“And what is it you’ve done?” Brian sniffs and he can make out the faintest hint of bread.

_Either someone is baking or there is a bakery nearby._

“I don’t know,” John lifts his head slightly, “ah. Bread.”

Brian nods and then gestures in the way he thinks that it is coming from, “so how do you know you’ve done this thing?”

“Because you’re talking to me.”

“Ah.”

This time it is Brian’s turn to be quiet. The streets are getting busier and he is being forced to walk shoulder to shoulder with John. They keep brushing against each other. Brian stumbles and a briskly walking man bumps into him knocking him into John. They collide and twist around, barely managing to avoid landing in a heap by John crashing into a building.

“Geh!” John cries out, pressing a hand to his chest, “gods dammit!”

Brian feels his heartbeats beat disjointedly at the sound of pain in John’s voice.

John doubles over, holding his head over his ribs panting harshly. Brian flexes his fingers, trying to figure out what one should do, but John straightens himself. His face is pale and his bottom lip has indents in it.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you?” Brian asks.

John laughs. It’s a bark and it’s bitter. Brian looks around to see if there was anything else that could have caused John’s apparent humor.

“Yeah. Peachy.”

“I don’t think so,” Brian says.

“Brilliant,” John snaps, rubbing his hand over the spot, “truly wonderful detective work.”

Brian crosses his arms. He thinks that other people might feel anger at the tone. Maybe he would have returned it with the vitriol Roger has when stomping around the flat, instead, he raises a brow.

“John?”

“I’m fine.”

John tries to move past him, “I think we’re getting near a bakery.”

He steps in front of John. They bump chests, and Brian takes a step back, but he manages to stop it from looking like he lost any ground.

“Please John,” Brian sighs, “let me help you.”

John’s glower fades and he lets out a defeated breath which is quickly followed by a watery chuckle.

“Sure, help me. Let us find a bench.”

Brian looks around the crowd. There is a bus stop not too far away from where they are at and he gently loops an arm around John’s, “this way.”

John drops onto the bench, doubling over before stretching out. He breathes through his nose and his jaw is clenched tightly. Brian lets him have his space while he looks around. Perhaps before all of this, there would have been a frantic worry in his chest, but now he can only recall memories of his mother fretting over a scraped knee.

“Feeling any better?”

“Don’t feel like my ribs are on fire,” John folds his legs and sits properly on the bench.

“That’s better than,” Brian says.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes. John’s breathing changes from thready and pained to even but quick. Brian crosses his legs and then uncrosses them.

“What happened?”

“Broken ribs,” John says, “not quite healed yet.”

“How did that happen?” Brian asks slowly, trying to stop his leg from bouncing.

John scoffs and then grunts in pain, “saving you. Or trying to.”

“You did save me, you said I was alive. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t. What I had to do to save you is something I don’t want to talk about, ever, but it was dangerous and I’m lucky to have only broken ribs.”

The pieces are slowly being put together in his head, “so whatever you did is bad enough to ruin whatever relationship you had with Roger and to not talk about? But it was to save me.”

John hums, “sometimes the means don’t justify the end, but I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“You wanted to save what you had. Which was me, but now there’s little left of that?”

“Got it in one.”

Brian watches a few more people pass. He wonders how long it will be until a bus arrives. Where would it take them?

“I’m missing something,” John says, “I’m missing how we all used to be, but I don’t have that right, I knew what I was doing.”

“It doesn’t sound like you did.”

John sputters which makes Brian turn to him. The green-tinged eyes are watching him with mixed emotions.

“You would have been more prepared,” Brian shrugs, “but I do suppose I am grateful for being alive, and I’m sorry I’m not that same Brian. I would like to have what we all seemed to have before.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen until our bonds are properly connected again _and _that’s not going to happen until we figure out what is happening with you.”

“Why I can’t feel anything? Why I can’t feel in love with you anymore?”

“Well, that might have happened without _all that _happening.”

Brian decided to not ask.

“When… when I was waking up something gave me part of myself back.”

John’s eyes widen and he looks out over the crowd, but Brian doesn’t think that he is seeing anything. The gears are turning.

“Maybe…” John mumbles to himself, “that’d be a long shot…”

“What would?”

“You said your chest felt crowded? Tight?”

“Like I have two heartbeats,” Brian nods.

“Then… it’s possible,” John bites at a hangnail.

Brian blinks and waits a minute for John to explain. When he doesn’t he clears his throat, “what’s possible?”

“That we were right and that there _isn’t _anything to fix, at least not like a vase or a bone.”

“Again, I’m a person,” Brian huffs, “but what do you mean?”

John shakes his head, “I want to research it more before I say it, but I might – it might be able to fix the other things as you suggested.”

Brian rolls his eyes, “but you’ll tell me once you know whatever it is, is possible?”

John nods. Brian stands with him noting with some curiosity that John seems to be vibrating in some excitement, perhaps nerves. He sighs and wonders if he knew more about _their _world as they call it John would be more forthcoming. Brian hides his grin.

Well, he knows what he is going to do the moment that they get home. If no one is going to talk to him he might as well take advantage of it.

“I think I’m much more in the mood for a pastry now,” John says.

The change of demeanor is startling, and Brian rubs his chest, “just like that, you don’t want to run back to your books?”

“I do,” John nods, “but you said you wanted a pastry.”

“I don’t understand you.”

John moves ahead of him and Brian must grab his hand to slow him down. A spark ricochets from John’s skin to the base of his skull. They pause and stare at each other, but John only smiles faintly.

“We’ve got this,” John says quietly, “I was foolish to think we needed to solve this alone.”

“You’re going to talk to Freddie and Roger?”

“Well, I’ll talk to Freddie who will talk to Roger for me,” John’s good mood seems to diminish at the mention of the blond.

“That might be what you need to fix like a bone or a vase,” Brian replies.

John coughs and guides him back across the street and in the direction that they smell the bread coming in from earlier. Brian stumbles a bit until he can keep base with John.

“You do know what the others like, yes?”

“I know all of your favorites,” John nods.

Brian raises an eyebrow at the back of John’s head and notes that his chest doesn’t feel as tight. Although he does frown at the annoyance in his lungs at John’s lack of an explanation.

“See, I told you we need to explore,” Brian says.

“Yes, Brian,” John says with fond exhaustion, “you’re right as always.”

The clouds take that moment to burst open and he and John have to hide under an awning to avoid being completely drenched. Oddly enough, John is laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's a switch, happiness.  
As always, leave your thoughts and comments below or come talk to me on Tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> Welllllll, give me validation? That was the first chapter of this mess, so as always leave your thoughts and comments below or come yell at me on tumblr!  
I'm gonna go hide now.


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